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Humans may sometimes decide to stay on some sense of reality that they can live

with if it is satisfying enough. Even though it may seem meaningless to society, if they

are satisfied, chances are they'd still cling to the things that make them feel real even if

it's meaningless. I know for I am, after all, a human myself, and I know the joy, and the

pain of living.

I’m fine with making the most of what I have. When I focus on the good things,

the bad things go away. It’s not childish, it’s strategic. The kindness, the love, the purity

and honesty that we all long for, it’s out there. The music and the movies are no longer

enough to keep on living. We can no longer endure the alien gloom of this unforgiving

habitat. We can no longer tread this world of perpetual darkness. The world is crumbling,

and we are constantly told by our leaders that we are the problem and that we are the

reason for everything that is wrong. It's a hard time to put out some milk and cookies.

Eventually, you'll just have to see the world from how you saw it as a child. And at some

point in this crazy shit show, you'll just have to believe that it's true. Even if all you can

see is a hurricane making a landfall and all there is to feel is a sense of paralyzing, deeply

unsettling, gut-wrenching heartbreak.

But there seems to be a seeping sense of something lost in another time. A world

that's entirely built from a beloved of mine, or perhaps built only around the idea of him.

I’m not even sure if it was love. I sincerely hope it was love. I didn't want him to hear the

shaking in my voice but I tried really hard out there to make it love. I adored him so much

that I concealed him in every poem of longing I wrote in the early morning which only I

can recognize. Those overtly poetic eyes now exist only in my dreams, and I have been

exiled from that dream just as much as we are constantly exiled from our own memories.

Banished from the innocent side of our nuclear heart as the sun sets, once again, to lure

us back into that isolated pit of no boundaries. I remain utterly insignificant against it. I

guess I imagined it in a different way. We're still cool though. The first love is not the last

love. My heart can break again next summer. For now, let's just say, "Oh well, lost again."

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Published in issue 5


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