Eigengrau

Welcome to thy personal darkness.

[awdrumlach]

I sat in the chair, the one she always sat in, and reflected on all the conversations we had in this very room. The books she would always drone on about, her friend’s new bakery or even my lackluster days at work. They all seemed so distant, like her laugh echoing through these weary walls.

People constantly reminded me that as time marched on, the path to more of these conversations would grow shorter. But how would one know if infinity got smaller?

[awdrumlach]

Writing essays is one thing. You find your topic, take your stance, construct your outline, then add the meat of your argument and polish your words while writing. It was a step-by-step process that anyone with a reasonable amount of understanding could pick up. It was a simple checklist that anyone could follow to success. It was the copy-and-paste method that led him to his own youthful success. Writing a book, however, was entirely different.

When you write a book, you still find your topic and construct an outline, but the meat you have to provide becomes much larger than that of an essay. Additionally, your meat has to be seasoned. Because of the larger amount of content, your diction and syntax have to be appealing to the eyes. Otherwise, readers become bored with your stagnant structure. This also means the amount of polishing you have to do increases.

Needless to say, writing a book is a much more strenuous activity than writing an essay.

It requires much more paper.

It requires much more time.

It requires much more sanity.

It requires much more focus.

It requires much more everything.

[awdrumlach]

I don't mind my father complaining about the restaurant's decor. He had a long day at work and was reasonably tired. But I still find it odd that he chose today of all days to stab at it, considering he has been to this restaurant many times before.

I don't mind my mother taking issue with the, evidently, new waitress. She has always been an emotional woman, prone to her driven words rather than he collected mind, yet she always made sure to talk about people when they weren't there. But I still don't appreciate silently harping at a tired waitress over every little thing.

I don't mind my younger sister being buried in her phone. She has always found it difficult to connect with others, and now that she has a medium to make friends, I could not feel more relieved. But I don't understand why I had to be the focal piece to your online buddies, or why you couldn't put your phone down when I tried to talk to you.

I don't mind my younger brother distancing himself from the family to play a game. He has always been competitive by nature, and rarely did he take a break from that game for anything other than his own interests. But I cannot fathom why he had to constantly unleash diabolically-smelling gaseous clouds and glance over with that devilish grin of his.

I don't mind that my family only talked to me when it was about what I was ordering. I don't even treat this day as anything special. I've lost most enthusiasm for it and have to rely on my peers to gain that excitement. For all that it's worth, it felt warming that my family took the time out of their days to spend it with me. It felt nice.

But it also felt hollow.

I don't mind that my family treated me like I was invisible on my own birthday. I was the one who suggested we all go out to eat together, even though I'm the person who doesn't feel the need to celebrate my birthday. Even though I am not great at having conversations. I suppose I didn't want to feel alone.

I think I'll go to a birthday dinner by myself next year.

[awdrumlach]

He wandered across icy plains, admiring the simplicity. He travelled through snow-ridden forests, observing the actions of surviving wildlife. He skated across the frozen planes of water, reflecting on his new appearance. A few months ago, he had finally felt whole. Now…he feels aimless.

[awdrumlach]

You’re still young, so it’s no wonder that your mind is set the way it is. Festivals are fun. Nobody can doubt that. The laughter and music serve to emphasize that. Though, as you grow older, you’ll find that your excitement wanes. It’s still there, mind you, getting a brief smirk from watching children behave how you would have, but you will find yourself unable to act how they do. It’s more solemn, observing from a distance.

[awdrumlach]

It was only as he choked to death, surrounded by the screams of men, children, and joyous raiders, that he vowed to eliminate all who partook in this tragedy.

“The only mercy you shall be granted is the mercy of having me as your executioner.”

[awdrumlach]

Sometimes, I think I am still in love with the idea of you.

[awdrumlach]

A man chasing his own light neglects the shadows cast behind him.

[awdrumlach]

I know I probably should not be surprised by these anymore, but it still shocks me how my silly little words have earned the attention of such a large variety of people.

You all have my sincerest gratitude. It is the support like this that keeps me writing and challenges me to do so from different angles.

[awdrumlach]

I finally realize why moths are so attracted to light. I’d liken myself to them after seeing you shine.

[awdrumlach]

And now, recognizing all the faults I have and why I believe them to be what is holding me down, my mind is subconsciously asking, “Yeah, and? Do you really want that to be what your potential child sees?”

The answer is no. I don’t want that. Not because it is wrong to show traits of vulnerability or fault, but because they deserve someone better than the current me who lets such traits hold them down.

[awdrumlach]

Ah, music. The expression of the soul. Often listened to, but never truly heard. I always marvel at its effect on the world. The way it floods your ears with a torrent of majesty, forcing your body to emulate its style as your lips press into a fine line—resembling the wavelengths. It does so with such gentle grace. The way it transforms the waving willow tree; it no longer is a byproduct of the wind, but dancing to lines of notes. It does so with such serene beauty. At last, there are the clouds. Oh, how I envy the clouds. They get to watch as the world moves to this unique rhythm. They get to observe as sound takes character. I wish to be among them, forever viewing reality as a symphony.

[awdrumlach]

I remember back when we first crossed paths. I had been wandering aimlessly through my vast ocean of darkness alone, but then you arrived out of nowhere. You brought the light of the stars with you, illuminating aspects of my life I had never taken the time to appreciate. You convinced me to dive head-first into the cosmos with you, jumping from galaxy to galaxy with naught by a smile on our faces. For the first time in a while, I was happy. For the first time in a while, I had a direction. I saw each speck of dust that blew by as we ran. I witnessed each supernova, remarking about how they could only dream to shine as bright as you could.

But light travels. Darkness sits still. You wanted to venture further. To drown into the darkest points of the universe. It was there that I saw your light warped into something more twisted. Much like how it takes seven minutes for the Sun’s light to reach Earth, eventually your rays of starlight dimmed. Eventually you vanished. You strove to pull me in deeper into that dense pit of umbra, but I refused.

I failed to recognize how much your vile gravity affected me. And now that I saw how much of a fool I was, I only have one last thing to ask you.

There was a reason I was hesitant to return to the depths I called home—why couldn’t you have waited for me to be ready?

[awdrumlach]

I think trees make a wonderful analogy for life. Your parents sow the seed for your birth and secure an area for you to take root. As time goes on, the span of your existence grows, reaching for the sky with all of its latent potential until the energy in reserve is used up. Then, in your final moments, your body slowly shuts down and breaks apart—wilting.

However, as you grow, your essence branches out and reaches for different aspects. These could be the friends you made along the way, the family you decided to build, or the accomplishments that cemented who you were while you lived. These branches keep growing, sometimes growing alongside other branches if one is especially ambitious, until the aspect has reached its peak, climax, stability, or whatever contextual synonym. They represent parts of your identity; who you were in terms of yourself and how other people saw you, but sometimes these branches are not as cheerful as one expects. Sometimes they are dark, full of shadows. Sometimes they haunt you.

[awdrumlach]

Is it too much to ask to turn back to clock? Back when the light drew our attention instead of warding our gaze. Back when trees were an obstacle to climb rather than a statue to observe. Back when we could dive into pools headfirst without the fears of drowning. Back when smiles didn’t have to be forced. Back when I wasn’t a coward, too afraid to express my own feelings. Are those times truly locked into my mind forever, left only to torment me with their purity? Forced to give me nostalgic hugs that leave me wanting more?

[awdrumlach]

Why do you think people hide their feelings from one another? You may think it’s because mortals are lying, deceiving bastards, which they certainly can be, but that’s is far from the full picture. No, every mortal has the latent desire to be an altruist. They hide their feelings out of cordiality, lest their true essence be painted as an annoyance.

Or that’s what they want to believe.

You mortals are also incredibly lazy. Far beyond the mammals that will take naps in between hunts, you have evolved to put aside your emotions for another time. ‘Bottle them up,’ if you will. Play the part and cry out that you only covered up how you felt because of predispositions you believed to be true. Tell yourself that it is not the proper time to be honest. Go and sulk when someone misunderstands. You lot, at your cores, care very little for the wellbeing of others. Otherwise, you would all drop your masks and start looking at each other’s faces. Wouldn’t you like to see what others truly express?

[awdrumlach]

The walls have turned on me. Instead of being my stalwart bulwarks, they joined forces to engage and oppress me. But why, my dear barriers? Have my actions been deemed cruel, thus you convict me to torment?

Alas, I am meant to writhe in discomfort. The walls I have lean on for comfort have thrown me to the floor where I shall remain.