Life weariness

I do apologise in advance for the complete mess my mind gave birth to. It’s more of an experiment, a sort of brainstorming, whose text won’t be revised neither corrected nor read in the meanwhile. I know it’s hard to be appreciated, but I feel like it needs to be a thing, it needs to exist, as incomplete and chaotic as it is.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s way easier to get sad than to try and be happy. The latter sentence is the whole point of this post, I’ve decided to write it first in order to catch anyone’s attention. Likes and views aren’t as many as what you all made me used to in those three initial months. You’ve just seen me throwing a little vent in a subtle way, just to slightly complain about how my blog is going. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you: it’s 11:53 pm of any Thursday and, since I’m running out of ideas, I’ll just brainstorm any sentences which come up to my mind. I’m not even starting new lines because I’d love you to read what I’m writing just as I’m doing it, confusedly but remotely logic. Enough of my yammering and back to the beginning: I really envy truly happy people. I do. Because… how? But, most importantly: why? The angry part of my personality is the first one to answer (“Because they’ve never had to go through any rough moments during the course of their life.) Well, you’re probably right and I’d be tended to utterly agree with you. I mean, every truly happy person (or who called themeselves so) I’ve ever met has always lived an amazing life and still does. When they tell me about what they consider “problems”, I’d like to punch them in the face and make them live just 1/4 of what I’ve been forced to face. That’s the same logic of those parents (mine included) that tell their children: “Oh baby love, think about African or Asian kids… they’re starving and would die to eat what you’re throwing a tantrum for”. I’ve always hated those whimsical kids and I’m shamed I was one of them for a brief period of my life. Anyway: I was going to contradict myself and say something like: “Yeah, my anger says so but actually I believe happy people are brave enough not to be put down”, but I’m not going to say it because that’s not what I think. It’s not that I hate happy people, I would never hate something I aim to. I just won’t understand them. Why me and not you? Why do you have the chance to live the perfect life and I was taken away that possibility? That automatically leads to another important issue: if you think that your past doesn’t and shouldn’t define yourself, quit reading NOW. It’s o b v i o u s that your life, God, destiny, call it as you want, has never made you think about suicide. Because, trust me, when you’re close to doing such an obnoxious and lame act, you’ve really had enough. And, of course, since the day you where saved (by another person or by yourself), you’ll never be the same and that will always affect your way of thinking, of speaking, of apologising, of arguing, of living. By saying that, I wasn’t trying to get your pity or become the new “suicide girl“. I was just trying to tell a story. The story of an unhappy person who is tremendously jealous of the happy.   Could I be any more selfish and self-centered? I highly doubt so.

@layalke 🐍

Woman in the Sun

A Sun ray woke up Eloise. She frowned and turned her face the other way, under her pillow. She knew he had left, she felt his void next to her, but didn’t dare open her eyes. She didn’t want to find that out, she didn’t want it to be true.

Eloise had always been like that: instead of facing her problems, she preferred to stop caring about them and just pretend they didn’t even exist in the first place. That wasn’t really a problem, but surely she would rather like to be in a different situation.

The Sun out of her window kept kissing her cheeks, persistent and unwavering. Eloise couldn’t do anything but grumble and eventually stand up. 

Once on her feet, she finally faced the open window and the light that came from there. Hypnotically, she smiled and, step by step, got closer to it.

What she saw, why she suddenly smiled and what at… well, we shall never know. Our view stops right here; the camera that’s been recording the whole time won’t move anymore. We are left with the view of her unmade bed, that sunshine ray which cuts the room in a half and, supposedly, takes away Eloise. But actually, we don’t know what happened next and we never will. Eloise, that as beautiful as inconsciously fearful and fragile girl; Eloise, her golden hair and her olive skin which seemed to reject those kisses, wherever they were from; Eloise, that once in her lifetime, had perhaps learnt to face her problems.

@layalke 🐍