In quest



I never knew that the constant berating of my grade-school teachers being physically present and mentally absent in class could be true. It’s sad, really, to be all smiles while realizing the genuine you doesn’t really want to take part of the conversation. Or the entire social situation you’re in, for that matter. It’s sad to realize how superficial your so-called connections and friendships actually are; realizing you’ve been suppressing who you are just to get along. It doesn’t matter as much as I make it out to be, I suppose, but sometimes I wonder if we could all just drop all pretension and reach out. Talk – not of other people, but of ourselves; of not just our good days but our worst ones. To have conversations with meaning.

People say that it’s an eerie feeling to realize that every human being is experiencing a life as vivid as yours, but if the latter statement is true, then it’s disappointing. It’s either the fact that we’ve never thought to even have Tumblr-esque 3 AM conversations to show actual concern and emotion or we’re settling, letting questions of what-ifs drift in the air. Letting reluctance on whether or not to open up set in.

Or maybe it’s my ideals acting up. Meaning is processed, after all, and read between the lines. Maybe it’s not in the words said. Maybe in the light of the shallow gossip and laughter there’s the joy of company; of having someone to sit beside you patiently listening to your day; of the rushed euphoria of overlapping conversations and made memories. Maybe.

I could hope for that, at least.



He receives a text at night; an address from an unknown number. He didn’t have to guess who it was from, or to have to make up his mind. He falls asleep with the letters engraved at the back of his eyes.

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