I’m often unsatisfied with life. I find myself in a drought of will. Though my mind usually feels like a map of entrapment, it is at times like these that I find myself stranded in the land of vacancy from a lack of luster existence. I created this existence, though. I made this space of vacancy. I poured energy into forgetting the hard times and now have trouble remembering anything before 13. and it’s my fault. I think it’s my fault. I should be more forgiving of myself. I’ve been consciously existing for 5 years now, and I can say confidently that I wish I was different.
The most trivial wish an individual could make. But selfishly enough, I would want to throw myself away in a heartbeat. I also wish, at times, I could live in a world of my mind dumps of nothingness. I’d assume it’s peaceful there. I’d be different there, I think. Or I’d like to think. I’d assume it’d be peaceful because it’s a world contained in the boundaries of my own excess thoughts. I’d be different because I would be a thought, a wonder, an inquiry in the world of self-inflicted forgotten memory spillage. I’d be different; I’d be at peace. But maybe one day I’d turn into that. Maybe I want that. Maybe peace is better than different. Maybe I’m selfish in my own conflicting needs. Maybe one day, I’ll wish to be at peace. Once the rhythm of my neutral resting life picks up the pace again. I wonder what I’ll wish for then. A peaceful difference?
At least in that wave of life, I’d be interesting, I think. I’d be busy. I’d be living the teenage existence at hyper-speed. So maybe people would notice. It’d be interesting. I don’t want to be interesting. I want to stop speeding through my life story, stop being overwhelmed by a fruitful existence, and be at peace. I often argue and present conflicting testimonies to myself. This one especially. What do I wish? If I had one wish to bring to my life, what would it be? I am selfish. I don’t turn to world peace because, like the world, my mind, like everyone, runs on greed. Wishes are stupid. I am selfish. I am not different. I am simply existing at a normal speed. Is that so bad?
I often tuck thoughts like this away into envelopes and hold them tight to me as I further experience life. I wish I could share the letters I’ve ghostly written that I hold so close to my heart. They’re heavy. They make my life heavy. But I’m unsatisfied. Maybe if I opened my mouth, something I’m incessantly aware I do too much, life would be lighter. Life would be different. God, I hate that word. I think I’m glad I exist, though. I am. I am glad I exist. Unsatisfied with life or not. I love you. I love love. I love all of its meanings. I love Sunday mornings after a night out, I love poetry and the way words can bind and reflect my emotions, I love my drive and how my end life goals have never varied, I love the way my friends can make me cry laughing and help me when I cry, god I have wonderful friends, I love the taste of warm coffee in fall when all the leaves are falling down, I love seeing old friends and the warm remembrance their hug can provide. I love loving. I’m glad I exist. I love me even, I think. I wish I was different, but I’m me. Maybe that’s okay. And maybe I love me. Maybe I don’t. But I love existing, even in the stillness where I find myself stirring and wishing for more. Life is good even when I’m not in the shape to appreciate it, even in a drought. I’m glad I exist.
Sadie's Solace Inked 