Me, paradoxes, and the night

I wish I were born with a deficiency to feel so that the nights are easier

Ain't the inner turmoils the only true content of life? Ain't happiness the momentary chemical effects in our brain to subdue the constant self-strangling we perform to ourselves?

But we say we live for happiness still

I mean the debate of life and death we serve in our head all the time, aren't we coded for self-destruction and not for an upbeat outlook on life in general?

But we live still

I wish I didn't have to go

I wish I didn't have to come

I wish I didn't have to move

I wish I could've always moved

I wish I could've always come

I wish I could've always gone

The insatiable loop of desires to end everything and to battle against these desires to end

"delusion, romance, same shit!"

Why didn't he love me? Why did I fall in love?

Why was I so susceptible to fantastical idealizations of them? Of those that are bound to be smashed in disappointments of disillusion

Oh, but the sweet delight of those tiny specks of time when limerence found me

Oh, those fantasies that I cannot live without

The pain of having to talk to people and the pleasure of having people to talk to

The comfort of a repeatable schedule and the gruesomeness of having to repeat it

I am such a finite being tortured by the infinite paradoxes

The night seems like a never-ending monologue, and I am the screenwriter

The night when I want to speak of everything in silence and talk to everyone but no one in particular

The night, passing through me, passing inside of me

Slicing up my body into shreds of wounded meat

And needling it up into a mute who mentions never of it

「Me, paradoxes, and the night」

2023.06.08 兰州