the sisyphus’ curse we bear

what is grief if not love that no longer has somewhere to go.

the idea of love has always been something so unexplainable to me. what is it even? is it the professor that sees your exhausted face, understands you are trying your best and lets you sleep at the back of the class, or is it a friend that takes you out to a museum that you have been wanting to go to for years? is it the person in the crowd that cheers for you when you win an award or the face that looks for you in the crowd, bursting into a grin when it spots you.

every single person i have known has felt unloved and alone more often than justice should have and while i understand the feeling better than anyone could, i wonder how it is possible to feel so when the world is full of small acts of kindness and concerned frowns on the faces of people you might have never talked to before. is it that sometimes that love is not enough to fill the void in you, or is it that the void is so dominant that you can’t see everything that holds you up?

a great day of going out into the city, your hand held in your friend’s who doesn’t want you to get hurt or lose you in the crowd, a small act of love that seems like such an obvious thing to do, and something that might also be born out of their own want for safety. the smallest act of locking their fingers into yours to make sure you are safe, you can be pulled towards if a bike whizzes past fast, you could study the shops and the bustling crowd of mothers with children, tourists being scammed and lovers on a date without worrying about losing them. little whispered comments about a bright pair of sneakers and hurriedly rushing to a shop filled with jhumkas of all sizes that you buy to match each other; an extremely insignificant act to try to be tied together with invisible strings. an auto ride with the wind in your hair and a supercut of shared memories. but why does it always end and why does it feel like withdrawing from the sweetest high when you are back in your messy room in front of everything you bought, your feet tired and your body in a dire need of shower and sleep; and why does the heart yearn to grab that moment and drag it to the present so you don’t forget that feeling of euphoria you can not imitate.

Waiting Room - Phoebe Bridgers

why does the room you housed your childhood best friend in, in your castle of love, eventually end up abandoned, and why does the face in the crowd that smiled when you were on that stage eventually leave? why does the girl you spent every single day with in school only occasionally reply to your instagram stories and where did the english teacher that meant everything to you and made you into who you are disappear?

“Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” ~Richard Siken

how do you go on with your day every single day with the ghost of all the friends that are going to leave and all the laughs that will become distant memories haunting your every single moment. how do you gather the courage to love people, make memories, give a piece of your soul to them over and over and over knowing the story you are starting will eventually end?