Athazagoraphobia

Everything will work out, I know. Because that is just the way these things occur. Maybe not in a way I will appreciate at first, but in a way nonetheless. It is not as if I will never be happy, it is just that I am not happy at the moment. But trying is all that matters, or so they say.

"They." Sometimes, I hate them. Their fake smiles, laughter, grotesque lies. I would love to watch them annihilate themselves. But ugly annihilation cannot always turn beauty to a flame. But I do enjoy the fire. Much like a tantalizing force that teases me, plays with my own desire. Yes, this beautiful fire.

I do not mean to demean them. They mean just as much to me as I mean to them; which, in a way, is absolutely nothing. But we shall not think of it that way for thinking of it that way defies a purpose of trying. For I do try, yes...I do. Why, you ask? Why indeed, I reply. For even I do not know the answer. Well, maybe I do but just do not think it is the absolute correct one.

I care. That is who I am. I care and I blame myself for the flaws which cannot be helped. If they can, I am not the one to fix that. Most likely because it is not worth fixing in me, for it shall fix itself.

Listen, do you ever listen to the heartbeat of the person you care for the most? Even I do not. Mainly because that heartbeat is not forever, this life is not forever, this pain is not forever. But I try. I try.

Deterioration is beautiful. It is painful. It is the truth within the outward lies. It is forever and it is fleeting, but never does the memory leave. It is a blessing. For at least I can feel, at least I can cry, at least I can bask in whatever it gives to me. Deterioration is just another emotional outpouring; crying, laughing, moaning, dreaming, bleeding, living, dying. It is another moment in my life that is worth the memory. For it makes me who I am.

And who I am? And who you are? And who we all will be? Just a memory striving to find a place in the sands of time.