Nothing could have prepared our generation for becoming so acutely aware of the successes and failures of everyone around us. Never before have we been so transparent in our disguises. Our lives on display in our social media prisons, this nightmarish system that consumes your time and leaves you feeling empty. None of us are half as happy as our status updates would like to pretend.
Perhaps the most difficult part is coming to terms with just how ordinary we are as individuals. To be reminded daily that you won’t be remembered, that history has no space for you, that none of us as as special as our teachers and parents led us to believe. We were not born extraordinarily beautiful, or outlandishly intelligent. We do not possess the charisma to charm love out of strangers nor the talent that attracts the attention we so desperately crave. Yet deep down we all yearn for affection, for love, for all the good in life that we were promised as children. From the moment we know that such joys exist we are doomed to never be content, never be satisfied with the present. Nothing will ever be enough.
Yet there are moments when the lights are shut and the stars are bright, and we are young and beautiful and alive. I’m laying next to you, I can hear your heartbeat and I am grateful to be breathing. There were moments when we kissed that I felt almost immortal.
Now I feel as if I am deteriorating. As if I have lost an integral part of myself and there are no clues on how to reclaim that part of my soul. It is not as dramatic as it sounds. There is no spectacle to behold. My heart has not been ripped in two yet I can feel it bleeding still. Know that I have bled for you.
There is not a cell in my body that does not miss you, though the conscious mind does what it can to soothe the pain. You’ve driven me to madness so effortlessly, caused me to abandon all logic, forced me to reevaluate my preconceptions of this life that I was living. I had become so consumed by being with you that I have forgotten how to exist on my own. It is not loneliness from the outside world that wounds me, but rather the loneliness from within that threatens to take control. There is a fine line between romanticism and foolishness and I tether on the edge, swaying by your breath. I am lost without you.