I don’t remember when I fell out of the wagon. But I do remember when I stopped being impressed by you. You – in all your splendid half-truths and promises – were what I drafted my future from. You were my excuse for a better and freer tomorrow. You were my ticket to the life I believed I should have – carefree, lavish, and happy.
But, sadly, things really do change.
I can’t recall when it did. But I just know that the days when I worshipped your words are gone. I no longer hold on to your promises because I’ve seen what they truly are – empty and naked. On days like this, I wish I could fool myself into believing you, but it sucks that I now know better.
Right now, I feel stuck.
I have dug my own grave and am now ceremoniously imprisoned by my own selfish dreams of wanting more for myself. It is ridiculous how beautifully I see life now. Ironic, that I no longer have the advantage of appreciating it more closely. This is my new normal now – raw, bare, and under-appreciated.
Always, we are together, but apart.
On days when we force ourselves out of this confinement we call home, we pretend to be normal and sit in cafes and coffee shops. I try to relish these minutes because unlike before, we rarely have them these days. As you sit in your side and I sit in mine, I wonder at our indifference. We hear without listening; we talk without communicating – and the saddest part is, I wish I care. But I don’t. Not anymore.