The Last Lap

The more I try to push on, the more I feel like I’m losing sight of the end point. Some days everything feels meaningless, and I forget what I want. I forget that I am supposed to want things, have goals, and work towards them. I feel empty, empty that I am mindlessly working towards scoring higher statistics on a standardised test, empty that I trudge alongside many others, who are so very different, but made to look the same. Brown clothed, weary and tired, we push on. I’d imagine everyone be thinking the same thing, “oh god, look how lifeless everyone is, how lifeless I am, I must be more than this. I am more than this, and more than them”.

I hate how I feel like I’m being rubbed into the background, like how an amateur artist would use his sweaty fingers to rub the pencil to blend into the paper. All the good artists know that good artists do not use fingers like how the media portrays we do. Lead and paper don’t mix, they are held by weak Van der Waals’ forces of attraction, mere interactions of electrons, which are essentially, a probability. I want to break free.

How is it that a probability is chaining me to this system, that a mass of probabilities can hold me down and suffocate me?

But the thing is, even if I were to break free, where would that lead me? I have yet to have enough courage to discover where that would be.

“Work, bitch.”
– Britney Spears