growing wings | Completed

32. the most self-destructive race of them all

     a watered-down blue color stains the place right above my heart,

     water color design of a blue hand touching a differently colored one.

      today is the day i get to meet her after a while,

      and i take a breath, color dripping from my eyes.

      would schrodinger make sense of what i feel when i walk down these crowded streets,

       is it really true to be alive and dead at the same time,

       that millions of realities crash and explode every time a single decision is made,

       and that i am made of nothing but probability.

       it seems futile to think of, yet my minds gears are shifting, shaking off the rust,

       and to realize that we are all made of nothing but chances.

       it really makes one think,

       think of how insignificant we are, to be so ignorant and think to be the only ones in these billions of galaxies.

        perhaps we are a cursed race,

        what a gorgeous name for mankind;

         the most self-destructive race of them all.

          i shake my head, my head must not be in turmoil,

          for it would foil my plans of being normal. for once.

        with eyes full of silver hope, i approach the little cafe she agreed to meet at,

        and i order her favorite drink and i wish i could ask for poison for myself,

         yet seeing her would inflict me harm anyway.

        all these people around me talk in loud, happy voices,

        smiles evident on their faces, and i just want to scream at them,

        my voice would rip those smiles off.

        cry.

        i would love to strip them off their masks, and unleash their raw emotions,

        the ones they feel when they are at their most vulnerable,

        and humans are most exposed once unclad of their ability to create a façade.

        just. cry.

        i am amazed at the fact that most are discovered of their thoughts once your own thoughts turn morbid.

         sometimes i wonder if there was to be a good guy,

         then i'd be the bad guy.

        i mean, the bad guys supposedly have twisted minds, but who doesn't? 

         the good always turn bad.

          it's how being human works.

         a bell rings, and my eyes sweep over the pastel pink dress to her pink lips.

         and all i can hear is her.

- the most self-destructive race of them all