We Will Never Be Anything, and That's Okay.
There’s something terrifying about the way you can get so used to living your entire life as if you’re fighting a war: I got so used to being walked all over, I became wary whenever I was treated like a human being. The normal became abnormal, and I wasn’t deserving of respect, nor was I even given a chance to earn it. I quickly learned that respect was a luxury reserved only for those who contribute something meaningful to this world, and despite trying my hardest to live an existence that couldn’t be defined as anything but meaningful, the way I was quickly shoved out of any circle I tried to insert myself into proved almost immediately that I was just going to have to accept that this was how it was always going to be.
We could die here, sitting on a porch swing and watching the sun set over a town where nothing ever happens. I feel like I’ve been all over when I barely had a chance to leave to begin with. It was as if I was pulled out of my bed in the middle of a peaceful evening by the hand of a god who had decided it was time for me to see Heaven: I was ripped from my normal life and thrust into something unfamiliar before being tossed right back to the curb. They had their fun with me, then turned me inside out and left me like an argyle sweater from Christmas three years ago, like the scent diffuser I got for my fifteenth birthday and never took out of the box, leaving it on my dresser for years and years to collect dust while I swore I appreciated the gesture. I was a fad, in and out quicker than I came. I was buried in the memories of everything I just wanted to forget, sent out in a canoe and whisked into the afterlife by a flaming arrow shot from the end of the water. I’m less than twenty miles from the hollow world I grew up in, but after all I’ve been through, it couldn’t feel further away. Sixteen miles turns to light years. We only leave our homes when we are forced to: The American Midwest is great at keeping Her prisoners.
Neither of us will go down in history.
Maybe the world will remember me for a few things,
but I think I would prefer to fade into obscurity
I don’t think there’s much out there, truthfully. But I’m not upset about that anymore. I am worlds away from the soulless wasteland I once called my hometown. Once the day came when I was able to wake up and realise that there was no point in leaving desperate voicemails that would sit forever unopened, I think I began to believe in peace. No matter how you spin it, love isn’t always forever. As crushing as the realisation is, I’m glad I’ve been able to let go and break bonds that were doomed to wither away regardless. There is something so strange about finally being able to exist in a place where mutual love is not only real, but it is everywhere I go.
Grateful as I may be for what I once had,
never have I known a life so joyful as this.
I will happily die with my hand in yours, braving long nights and traffic and roommates and trick-or-treaters and cold winters and side jobs just before rent is due and living and rotting in mediocrity, in an America with no dream. I am just happy to be by your side.
‘I was just happy to be a contender’
Even if I die with no name,
i will never complain
because you loved me when the universe shut me out.
we will die watching the sunset.
