It was midnight. My mind urged me to change the subject, and I was looking for something to do. A few posts ago, I was enthusiastic—scared, but enthusiastic. Now, I was left wondering where my muse had gone, contemplating which step to take while curating a muse-less task.
It was 1 in the morning, and I questioned the irony of the two most contrasting events in a human’s life. I felt as if I were lying in a barren tract—too cold to move, too restless to feel hopeless. I felt like a fraud, an impostor, a counterfeit. Could you imagine how this void was once a garden I tended to almost every day? I felt like a broken scarecrow, lying forgotten in an arid land.
It was 2 in the morning, and I was in… a state of shock? It felt like turning a few years older in one night. If reality seemed a little distorted, my imagination was maimed. I screamed a curse word a few times—it was unladylike, but I wasn’t feeling like a lady. Everything felt so similar to something from my past, and I was relieved that each time, the city didn’t scream a particular name.
It was 3 in the morning, and I was trembling from the coldness of my room. “Why don’t you turn off the air-conditioning?” But, to be fair: “Why did you let the cold wash over you in the first place, stupid?” I didn’t think thoroughly enough. I was a fool for letting it slip into my bones, twisting them mercilessly. Well… fuck.
It was 4 in the morning, and I passed out. My dream warned me about the true nature of my muse—or was it a few days ago? Who could even tell? I suppose I shouldn’t be ashamed of taking it lightly. I had been placid and brave. Nothing—and I mean nothing—should take that away from me.
It was 6 in the morning, and I was determined to close the chapter. October started with doubt, hesitancy, and a touch of desire, which rippled slowly, leaving trails of hope behind. I hate to sound negative after trying so hard to keep a balanced, positive life, but why the hell did shitty things happen after a brief moment of goodness? It ended in a stomachache, deceit, and heartache. I couldn’t even tell which blow hit harder, but I was glad it was over.
It was 8 in the morning. I started to regain my pre-muse belief that being myself was everything I needed and more. I was far from demanding, but count me out of a multiple choice. A or B or C or D—a girl was more than just that. It pricked me less now that I remembered how the scoring worked in an essay.
It is now 9 in the morning, and I feel like my mind is much clearer. Well, there goes the smallest man who ever lived—my version—who doesn’t even deserve prison and won’t ever get time.
Good riddance.
November 01st, 2024. I thought this was different—I was wrong.
But God gives, and God takes—the thought consoles me more than anything else.
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