On my event horizon

In the past few months the cogs and wheels within have been turning in strange directions. Warning lights that I never even knew existed have turned on. They were red for a second. Now they’re white. Dead. Energy signifying entropy. In the past few days they’ve gone silent. The humming has stopped. The lights simply indicate that I’m alive, nothing more. Everything else is on auto-pilot; everything else just is. And I am tired of simply being. 

I’ve tried being what others want, and I’ve attempted to deviate from the desirable to different extents. I’ve also tried being myself. I’ve got nowhere. It’s been two and a half years since that day. It feels like at least three lifetimes have elapsed since then. I’m grateful for so much, but at the same time I’m bitter, envious, enraged, disappointed, and utterly jaded. Like there’s nothing left. Like the only two choices I’m being left with are two fears: one slightly worse than the other, one less free than the other, one less lonely than the other. One less me than the other.

I’ve already made my choice, and I haven’t done so lightly, but it’s still a heavy burden. Its weight begotten by an infinite amount of words and things I have to offer but never will. They’re too hard to bear I’ve come to see. I always start with a smile, you see. Happy, excited, hopeful. A naïve kind of hope, one seen in children. Where does it always fall, however? Inside a bottomless pit of all I had to give, and all they never really wanted. 

A little black hole I was born with but always managed to control has now almost swallowed me whole. All it’s ever wanted was all of me; all I’ve ever given it was hope, that we would escape this universe that doesn’t seem to fit us. It took my word for it every time. It did so one too many times. Now it’s in control. Now I’m the passenger inside a cosmic genesis of pure dark matter. I either find another universe or I’m annihilated. It’s kind, though, my little black hole. It doesn’t sneer while it’s killing me. It doesn’t smile. It’s not relieved. It simply serves its purpose. It does what it’s supposed to do. What it was born to do. 

Maybe I’ll finally find peace in its event horizon. Maybe I’ll get to see what I really am. And then I may be able to live in peace through its frosted glass of comfortable numbness of the soul.

One thought on “On my event horizon

  1. You know that a black hole can simply be the incentive to speed up or a portal leading you to new and exhiting places, rather than incapacitate you


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