Dead, Alive, Repeat

 

Days and days spent in a white room overlooking the leaves off the trees in fall. The sky is mostly gray, so is the mood, so is the feeling. But, sometimes it‘s blue up there, but somehow I keep on looking down, feeling the blue, in me. 

The same scenery, different days that pass by in a repeated 7 sequences off of a week, higher up in numbers of the date in a month, and the month changing names, repeatedly counting to 12. So are the seconds and the minutes counting repeatedly to 60 to level up and change into hours that go so slowly and so fast sometimes from 0 to 23. 

So is life that I have here. I thought life was more than breathing, changing off the sun to the moon, and to sun again, sleeping, eating, repeating. But life sadly feels only like a waiting. For each other‘s turn to die, crying for the dead, grieving, being the dead one, and the tradition goes on. 

So I chose to do what’s most relieving. Like if I were to choose between living or dying, I’d choose neither. If I knew that life was nothing but monotony, I guess I’d choose the nonexistence. In fact, I’d love that so much at the moment. I don‘t think it’s that much enjoyable to live with so much problems, same ones you thought you went over already, all over again. Like those problems, that even if you’d change yourself for somebody else, won‘t help solving the problems. Like it’s so inevitable but yet so not-inevitable that you’re starting to question your bare existence in this whole world; how come? This again? All over again? From the start? I mean, world, life — just let me breathe, eat, sleep, enjoy my day and night like what I’m supposed to be doing. You don’t have to give me what I want, no. But just give me what I need. I feel like I‘m just causing trouble. And I don’t wanna live to serve that purpose only. 

Erlangen, 17/10/21