Waves & Sparks
In three days, the season of joy will be culminating. And yet, until now, I feel no joy in my heart. I feel no excitement. No spark even.
In places I frequent, I laugh heartily and smile abundantly. Often laughing a little too louder than usual, smiling a little too bigger than usual, afraid of getting found out, that I'm not who they think: a happy-go-lucky free spirit who is happily content.
Underneath it all, I am miserable. There's no other way of putting it. Sometimes, when I feel a wave of joy, I pray to get drowned by it. When I feel the spark of happiness, I quickly fan it in hopes of getting consumed by it, completely and fully and really.
It never lasts, those waves of joy and sparks of happiness. They die out in minutes, sometimes seconds. Perhaps because there's nothing in me they could latch on. There's nothing in me that can make them stay.
My brother said that I should still look at the bright side, starting by counting the good things that happened in the past twelve months, no matter how small or simple.
I'm still trying, holding on to the good and hoping it'll hamper the bad, that it's enough to uplift me, to return to how I used to be. I can't be a bitter old man. I refuse to be. And yet here I am trekking the path to becoming one. But I can't help myself. I must be true.
I still feel the hollow Anton drilled in my chest, beating, growing, eating me up. I still cry recreationally, "in places no one will find," to quote Mandy. I still fill this hollow with wine. It never lasts.
When will this dark age end? When will the wave of joy drag me from the shore and into its belly to get drowned blissfully? When will the spark of happiness latch on and burn me into a forest fire til I'm nothing but ash and soil?
When will I be happy again? I need an exact date and time.
In places I frequent, I laugh heartily and smile abundantly. Often laughing a little too louder than usual, smiling a little too bigger than usual, afraid of getting found out, that I'm not who they think: a happy-go-lucky free spirit who is happily content.
Underneath it all, I am miserable. There's no other way of putting it. Sometimes, when I feel a wave of joy, I pray to get drowned by it. When I feel the spark of happiness, I quickly fan it in hopes of getting consumed by it, completely and fully and really.
It never lasts, those waves of joy and sparks of happiness. They die out in minutes, sometimes seconds. Perhaps because there's nothing in me they could latch on. There's nothing in me that can make them stay.
My brother said that I should still look at the bright side, starting by counting the good things that happened in the past twelve months, no matter how small or simple.
I'm still trying, holding on to the good and hoping it'll hamper the bad, that it's enough to uplift me, to return to how I used to be. I can't be a bitter old man. I refuse to be. And yet here I am trekking the path to becoming one. But I can't help myself. I must be true.
I still feel the hollow Anton drilled in my chest, beating, growing, eating me up. I still cry recreationally, "in places no one will find," to quote Mandy. I still fill this hollow with wine. It never lasts.
When will this dark age end? When will the wave of joy drag me from the shore and into its belly to get drowned blissfully? When will the spark of happiness latch on and burn me into a forest fire til I'm nothing but ash and soil?
When will I be happy again? I need an exact date and time.