#overcastkid

a teacher once told me that our bodies are made up of tiny machines, working together to keep us alive. if that’s true, then my heart is one of perpetual motion. against all laws of physics, i continue to churn out a pathetic illusion of love, despite my long-depleted source of power. the remaining fuel has dried up, jamming the cogs and rusting the nuts and bolts. still, the machine continues, becoming more dilapidated with each day.

i pray that you’re a repairman. that you’ve been put in my life to replenish the fuel and restore the power. or maybe you’re an antique collector, taking pity on the faulty engines that time forgot. whatever you are, i think you’re the only one who could take this sorry excuse for a motor and make it function once more.

but, to all appearances, you’re a magnificent display of man-made power. you run effortlessly, all parts in mint condition, with a shiny exterior that blinds anyone who dares look.

it’s been nearly four years, and i still think of you every now and then. i remember the good times. our first meeting, our first date, our first kiss. i remember us standing in the kitchen of your student flat, making paella and singing at the top of our lungs to stupid songs we made up about my cat. i remember us moving into our first place together, and the little party we threw to celebrate where you charmed all of my colleagues into thinking i was the luckiest girl alive for having you. i remember the passion, the euphoria, the dreams. but then i remember the other person in our relationship. alcohol.

she kissed your lips far more convincingly than i ever could. she soothed you, gave you a sense of purpose. she elated you when you were down, a feat i was never able to achieve. but she tricked you. she told you i was out to hurt you when i begged for connection, for reciprocation, for a relationship of equals. and you believed her, because she was always far too good to let go.

i know you think i’m heartless for leaving without saying goodbye. maybe i am. but i couldn’t bear to give you the ultimatum - me or her? we both know which one of us you’d have chosen, and i wasn’t prepared to hear her name leave your mouth.

it’s possible that you’ve changed since i left, that you’ve learned from our three harrowing years of misalignment. i heard from a mutual friend that you’ve broken up with her now, that you gave her up for your new girlfriend. part of me is happy for you. most of me is heartbroken that i wasn’t ever good enough to even consider letting her go. i guess your new girlfriend is better at kissing you, better at soothing you, better at giving you a purpose. i suppose that’s a good thing.

the back of a downtown ambulance. lungs failing, body convulsing, eyes rolling. nothing but the sounds of apologetic birthday wishes from the paramedics as they attempt to sedate the mania. my brain frantically rewinds the cctv tapes of my life, searching for the perfect memory to go out on. i’ve never been so close to death. i've also never felt more at home. the gurney is my bed, and the paramedic reads my vitals aloud like a fairytale.

but the death is only actualised in my head. as it always was, as it always will be. there are no funerals for psychosomatic casualties, no flowers left on the graves of the living dead, no tears shed for those whose bodies just won't accept the desperate pleas of the brain to let go.

i haven’t had a crush in years. i think somewhere along the line, on the lonely road of heartbreak and disappointment, i forgot how to love. but now you’ve taken up each and every last empty space in my mind… and i’m angry. you’re taking up all of my time with your dreamy eyes, your kind words, and your overwhelming intelligence. i never gave you permission to make a home in my heart. why are you doing this to me? don’t you know how delusional i am? surely you’re aware that when you smile at me, or crack a joke, i have no choice to revisit the memory over and over again until i fall asleep?

of course, you have no way of knowing this, because my brain will always be the victor over my heart. you can never be mine, and i think i prefer it that way. i’ve always appreciated fine art. you can stand and admire it for hours, but never touch it, or even get close. the exclusivity makes it all the more exciting. so, knowing you’ll never feel the same way, whether it's due to company policy or that you're simply just too magical for me to even dream of, i will happily accept admiring you from afar.

i’m never going to get better with this anchor weighing me down.

the anchor serves only one purpose; to drag me down to the depths of its own troubled waters. is it looking for companionship? or does it genuinely enjoy seeing me struggle against the waves?

whatever it is, the anchor has taken advantage of the fact that i was so busy fighting to stay alive that i couldn’t see the only issue was me holding onto it. that i could just let go, and let it sink, and swim up to the surface for air. unfortunately for the anchor, i now see it more clearly than ever.