𝘃𝗶𝗮 𝗔𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗹 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘁𝗼, 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗣𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀
If you were to tell me that there’s a whole other world far from what I know, I might never believe you. For nothing good exists beyond the broken debris of damaged houses I’ve built over and over for people I wanted to stay, only for them to rob me of the love I once knew and the few little things I can hardly call my own. There’s hardly another day waiting for any of us as the sun no longer shines; it just hides over the horizon, far from the deteriorating place I call my home—a place full of dysfunctional relationships I’ve managed to escape, which I barely even remember, and yet they continue to linger.
I am condemned to survive in a world where everything is doomed. I ironically both remember and forget everything. Sometimes, the fragments of the past haunt me. Its insatiable hunger to destroy the little sanity I have left continues to present me with undesirable belongings I never wished to see again. I walk along the streets of broken dreams, trying to find at least one thing to hold onto. I incessantly search for meaning, for a reason to keep me company as I wait through the end of this ordeal.
This is where I belong. I am all the forms of destruction, decay, damage, and brokenness that try to liberate themselves from the ugliness of the discarded pieces left by everyone who once passed through my life. This has been my home. This is familiar. This is all I know. This is all I’m meant to know—all I’m meant to experience. And I will be here until the end of time, for this is my curse.
And yet, here you are now, telling me that the world I’ve known all my life might be a lie—that this isn’t the only way to live. Slowly, you push down the walls meant to imprison me, so I don’t gain knowledge about the world you came from, a world so pure I do not deserve to even set foot in it. This prison of a city keeps me away from everyone, as everything I come into contact with dies. I am the bringer of damnation, for the sole purpose of my existence is to curse everything.
But with you, I have slowly learned the concept of hope. I start to cling to the possibilities of maybe. At night, the moon hears me pleading and wishing I don’t pass any of my bad luck to you. For the first time in my painful existence, I start to free myself from the burdens of living in a world that’s beyond repair. I beg every higher being I did not believe in—whom I curse every day except in this moment—to grant me one chance to see your world with you.
And if one day the universe finally forgives me for the sin of being born as myself and grants me a single moment to make a decision for myself, I will risk everything I have to see the end of the world with you. I’ll gladly lie down with you, not staring at the familiar brokenness I grew up with that’s slowly coming to an end, but at the entirety of your being—so magical that I start to thank everything. Maybe, despite all the ugliness that pieces together my being, I am deserving of at least one good thing in life. And for a short while, I will let myself believe that I don’t need saving, that I’m not beyond repair. Maybe then, I can start to see past the wretched ruins of the city of my being and finally wait for the sun to shine its light onto your life.
I will gladly exchange the little life left in me to take away any brokenness that found a home in you. I’ll give my entire being so you can see a tomorrow where everything’s alright, and any form of doom is just a myth.
