The sun holds an everlasting devotion for the moon, spending its eternal life chasing what it cannot have. A reason for living, something to give purpose to its immortal life. The world holds its breath as the two continue to paint the sky with melancholy, falling between light and darkness. A love that will never be reciprocated, yet the sun holds on. Unable to stop, living without the knowledge to know how. It continues to live, to feel, to exist; even if the moon were to die, that longing would never fade. A lifeless husk, barrelling into the endless void of space, cherishing its love from a distance. Love is not destined for all; they pursue something that was never guaranteed, stuck within a daze of emotions.
Tacky, yellowing wallpaper tries to escape its prison, screaming for help as the rustic curtains’ slumber remains undisturbed. Sickly porcelain skin recoils from any trace of light or life. I lie awake like a rotting carcass breathing in the crisp stale air, an amalgamation of scents which I am unable to dissect. Freckles are splattered across the metal frame of the apartment door, and the orange tinge of rust consumes its formerly grey skin. A once-hungry carpet, carrying the memories of many meals, is buried under worn clothes, used kitchenware, and half-read books. The only proof of my existence is scattered around the room, a constellation of experiences and memories unable to be pieced together. Entombed within my past, I remain safe and stagnant, unable to move forward, unable to move on, unable to move.
A body that is drained of life, running on autopilot, unaware of the world around it. A pale, ghostly face contrasted with haunting, cavernous eye-bags. Day and night blur into one. As nothing changes, the cycle of nothing continues. Not willing to chase sleep, I can only await its return. A picture frame shut within the drawer of my oak bedside table, singing a siren song, luring me into its grasp, but I cannot bear to think or to feel, as those actions are far too dangerous. I stare above at the decaying ceiling decorated with mould. A cycle that will never end, like a snake eating its own tail, an insatiable hunger. I long to be consumed, both body and blood, like a holy figure, to never have to think again.
I looked around the deteriorating lounge room, feeling a sense of comfort that my life is regurgitated around me. Held in its lovely embrace, I feel comfort in this claustrophobic space. A wooden crucifix hangs on the wall, looking down on me. A gift from my parents in good faith, one that I’d never share. A poison inside me where there was no cure, their judgment will always flow through me. Watching and waiting for me to trade my very being for my soul. Enduring the pain, I survive, living without a purpose, without him.
Eerily watching from the centre of the room was a computer. It seemed to repel the waves of rubbish and many piles of my life. Useless, unable to fulfil its purpose, it simply remains, waiting. Missing cords and lacking power, we sat together. Melting into a blur of nothingness, useless and wanting more, but fate denies us that satisfaction
Ding!
An odd sound breaks through the deafening silence; the screen glows a glaring blue, forcing me to squint. Confused and unaware, I accept the distraction breaking me out of this lifelong trance. The screen slowly fills frame by frame, yet I sit in silence watching and waiting, as there is nothing else awaiting me.
