Dreams of Blue Skies
Unhappiness is everywhere.
The sooner we realize it, the sooner our pipe dreams are destroyed.
Fifty years ago, it was a distant dream to the public eye - now, all you have to do is open up your window blinds to see it.
The world is ending for everyone - at every time. Every two minutes a person jumps off a building or shoots up just a little too much into their veins. A person dies every .01 millisecond - and the world, while ending for them, still goes on.
We feel we are the light of life - the reason there is consciousness. Without us, there is no "us" or "them" or "you" or "me". There is just a blank. This blank that envelopes all of the cosmos without any regard to any other living creature - in the present, past, and future.
We are the unique flame - our own individual personalities simultaneously clashing and meshing to become the single song of perfection.
The rule is: if you die, the universe must and will stop.
If you are engulfed in a tragedy, be ready to expect shoulders to open up for you and you alone.
You are precious.
You are the life force.
But at the same time... you're aware at the acute farce you want to believe in.
You wake up in a world, so suddenly as if doused with cold water, to find that your prince charming is off far away - with his princess.
You are the foolish girl sleeping at the fireplace - only waiting - no... wishing for your moment in the spotlight. But it is just a dream. A dream faraway being lived by someone else who believes in risks and... herself.
The nightmare really is that you could die - and just be easily replaced.
You will not be missed.
No one will give you a moment's thought once you're in the ground, eaten slowly by worms.
There is no hope.
There is no serenity.
Only rage and despair are available.
You are a worker bee - a product of advertisement and commercialism, glittering to be a smiling waving unfeeling plastic toy. But there was a malfunction - a virus - and now you have been discarded, in favor of a newer more beautiful model.
You are alone - your closest is lost to you. Everywhere you go can't fill the hole that is gaping in you, aching to be closed. Instead, you sit on a bench and watch as everyone, EVERYONE, is nestled warm in a group.
And you're just there... this glitch in the system - not knowing what it feels like to trust someone.
And whatever you had before is gone. It was your fault, yes... your hands twitch because of the knowledge. If there was a way to strangle yourself, you would've done it by now.
However, life goes on. This has been proved over the years by you, by others. There will be a time when you'll look back on this day with regret, yes... but wisdom also. You need to survive, to exist... to get past this.
But why does it feel so hard?
Why can't you feel anything? Anything but rage and despair at your situation? Why can't you think of anyone else? What's wrong with you?
Why can't everyone think about you? Just once? Just for fucking once, just push aside the pretty girls and see you for who you really are?
You've always been alone. Always.
This is what Helga thought as they put the sheet over Phoebe's face.
That she was always alone... and always will be.
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