Those who do not decide have also made a decision, you see. I’m not the first to say it, think it, believe it, doubt it. I’m not the first to wonder if she’s coming back, if I’m living a life worth living, if there’s a point to it all, if there’s an end. I’m not the first to lie awake waiting, waiting like a fool, you see. I’m certainly not the first, nor the last. I do not suffer uniquely.
My generation teeters on, teeters toward no particular end. We all are a part of it now. We are all caught up in its apathy and malaise, and I am not the first to say so. I am hardly unique in saying that we are all fucked, yes, but fucked gently, well, I do not disagree. I am not the first to say something in a profane way. I will not be the last to decry the injustices of some system, some structure, some construct. She left me, and that happens everyday. She is leaving me everyday, and that is not unique. Everyone feels what I feel now. We are going through it together, everyday.
We were not unique. We were ordinary. I will say it until I believe it, until I can move forward. I will say it, because far away just gets closer and closer. Next year looms, and for me it is still last year. For me now, it is always some time passed. For the whole world, and for me, we reach for what is gone. You remember why, don’t you? But I must forget somehow.
Why do we remember? Wouldn’t we be better off forgetting? What good is a memory that begs us to forget the present, the future?
This year they say is coming, I will make something of it. This is the year I exist.
