Wake up feeling sick from the day before, the night before, the time before. I hate waking in the middle of the night but like how special it feels lying there without a singular expectation. Nothing is expected of you at 3 a.m.
I see love is dead. Its obituary is on a page far back in the paper in the company of happiness and stability. The paragraph for love is a line and-a-half of mourning that says little to nothing of the time it was here in favor of what it meeeeeeans for the writer. Truly wonderful is the writing of what the lucky one’s alive think of the tragedy that is a life and time lost. A slice of charred wallpaper picked from the ashes and put in a collage without crediting the empty house lost in the blaze.
A wonderful piece was produced for happiness because it’s immortal and never dead. You can’t kill hope, puppies, or photos of the dreamiest places in the world! They’re always ready to wrap an arm around your shoulders after a day of stress, a couple of minutes of news from the world, or when you feel a little too far gone. You deserve to relax though because spending a bit of money helps alleviate the inflammation of blunt force debt.
Stability fell somewhere in the middle of those two: not too short but less long-winding. Who read it though? Ask around and see if someone you know did. It felt the warm, toothless smiles as it evoked nostalgia and Christmas morning with Mom and Dad, but the eleven typos in twelve sentences go unnoticed when the page is turned while the old television plays home-movies.
It’s late in the morning now and I don’t feel any better. I’m watching my day progress in comparison to the people living out an appropriate day, and it’s with a mix of happiness well above their own and anxiety well below it. There’s a lot of well-meaning conversation woven in, but the ship is substantial and unsustainable. Everyone is screaming to turn it around but keep arguing about whether to turn left or right. Still it’s just going forward. We’ll run out of fuel, cannibalize, and recommence on the rusted vessel like we’re pioneers or survivors, but we’ll never turn the ship around.