You are thinking about them when you wake up, when you go to bed, when you’re laughing, and always when you are crying. They don’t leave your mind, just like they will never leave your soul. Their words are eternal, and their gaze is in your memory forevermore.
Those were the good old days, before they were gone. That was when life was fresh, fun, and free. Those were the days when you wanted to live, when every breath was in anticipation for when you would see them again. You couldn’t live without them, and losing them was the last thought on your mind. You were young, and so were they, there was an indescribable innocence that was divine.
Now you sit in the darkness of the morning hours tearing apart your heart to remember them, racking your mind to drive their memory deeper into your consciousness. You lost them, perhaps forever. Love has disappeared in favor of lust, for no heart truly exists, where it is frozen in the past. Only their fiery key can unlock the dormant soul. Not knowing where they are, what they are thinking, or even who they are anymore, but still being in love with a person that once existed, and perhaps still does. You keep the pain because you don’t have a choice, the pain is your personal, introspective distorted happiness.
This is why people sleep, to see them in their dreams, maybe once in a while. In the end, it makes someone religious because there is nothing worth living for on earth, and therefore people begin to consume as much art as possible as they wait for their eternity, hoping just to see them again once more. But what if we end up in a hell that is like a child forgotten on a grocery store aisle, all alone, without the one we love in eternity?
This is what makes existentialists.
Featured Image: “A Fall Farewell in 1919” by Dmitri Shmarin