Somber Emptiness ⸮

On that gloomy night, where the once ecstatic feeling of guilt and regret surfaced, I regret every moment, the bittersweet taste of what’s to come.

It happened on a breezy July night. I wish it had been you — it wasn’t. Weren’t you supposed to give meaning to every little talk we had? Like the imminent one?

She asked, “When was the last time you were truly happy?” — and it crushed me.

Silenced by my thoughts, I tried to remember, yet I was stunned to glance at a single memory.

A long time passed, an extensive moment hard to recall, with only glimpses barely enough to visualize into a portrait full of joy. Always somber; in some ways, I find that memory hauntingly beautiful — how wrong was I?

Picture this — a lush green forest, a garden full of grandiose life examined from the outside. But inside, only a hollow shell remains. The thought still plunged me into this nightmare of the unwanted, the unworthy, and the unloved.

A loss for words, never truly happy for a long time. Everything momentarily — I could feel warmth briefly before it vanished.

So I lied,

“I am happy.”

“Your eyes feel empty. How do you view happiness if that’s all I see beneath this warm flesh?”

I do feel empty. Maybe because my mind adjusted to this emptiness. I worked tirelessly; every sadness poured into materials I did know not how to spend, but the thought of sharing fulfills me.

No matter how much I gave, it wasn’t enough. You reap what you sow — Isn’t that what they say? I water the plant, yet the sapling shows no potential to bear fruit; as it did for Newton.

A complex situation — it feels that way in some difficult aspects. Is it wrong? Am I so unworthy of happiness that it defiles me at every moment?

I got home, and I looked in the mirror. I saw nothing in my eyes. Swollen eyelids with dark pupils staring back at me. “What have I become?” I asked. I’m only this dried-out sack of human skin.

It felt like I endured hell; loneliness clenched into my spirit. I was not alone, but I was always this empty. Every morning. Every night. Every red light. Every intersection. In bed. Under the shower. At the dining table. Through it all, I was expected to show up and smile

Funnily enough, I did. I kept my bond to my own words, I pushed my strength beyond what I thought I could. Even then, it wasn’t enough. Not a single amount spent each day is enough to repay what I am owed.

“I am unhappy.”

The realization struck like a chord. To deny it is to push boundaries limited only by myself. So I did, even if it meant being choked out of grace for those with more than enough gracefulness; I did what I did.

It killed me every day. Astonishingly, I woke up doing the same thing.

Every night I felt lonely, despite the screen light full of laughter a couple of moments ago grazing my face.

“Get some rest.” She said.
“I will.”

But I never did.