An Addict of Living
contemplating so much;
overthinking every little "hello"
and analyzing every "goodbye,"
evaluating my current state
versus 365 days previously me
to which I find myself
feeling... free?
To be free yet wiser
seems like a perfect paradox,
one that regrets to
compliment itself.
I take a deep breath.
Despite this freedom,
I am a prisoner of my own mind
finding myself happy alone
and so cynical about my loneliness.
I look for happiness
in the shadows of people;
shadows of a friend;
shadows of a bond;
shadows of a better me.
I swear when I first looked in the mirror
I saw a reflection of my parents.
As time went on,
I didn’t see that anymore.
I didn’t deserve such a reflection.
Instead, I saw my eyes
condescendingly staring;
challenging me to curse them out.
No beauty in those eyes;
only determined stride.
Such a state
is so antagonizing to see
therefore I pretended
I saw nothing.
As time went on,
the reflection evolved.
She became a hybrid of all things lost.
She was a mixture
of all different ideas
and all kinds of emotions.
She was terrifyingly real,
calming yet severe.
I was not categorized
for the demise.
The universe was waiting
to be explored by me.
The soil was waiting
to feel the soles of my shoes
press on to the rest of the journey.
The colours of the rainbow
ached to enchant me.
There was so much place
for my vision that it felt like a waste
to not give it a taste.
The moonlight followed me
as I danced.
The sun’s rays bounced
off my skin in harmony.
The birds sang an acapella
as a soundtrack to my story.
The tides rushed me into the waves
to lead me into a salty embrace.
These things do not happen
because I am simply there.
I do like to pretend that they do
as I am obsessed with the idea of living
and overcome by the idea of
ending the way I live.
I am alive though I long
to do much more.
Living is my nicotine
and how I long to get enough
of the dosage I want
but not today.
Impatience tries to take over
but I shush her into silence
for I know my time is coming;
for I stay addicted to my moments of living.
The moments that passed
are discarded in the ashtray.
The present moments
I breathe in slowly on my balcony.
The future moments
I dream of and listen to hear
their arrival at my doorstep.
I crave these moments
as they are my livelihood.
They are my wind’s soft kiss.
They are the curve stitched on my face.
They are a part of me.