Lazy from C-Z

The thrill of the hunt has wavered and turned to ashes. It oftentimes meddle with the ones that I do decide to care for, and when it submits, it becomes somewhat undesirable and withered, pushed aback by the winds. Like memories. Of forgotten days and feelings. There is nary a day that I do not think of Ainhoa. That bitter aftertaste at the tip of my tongue knowing it could have been handled so much better (or maybe not) on my part, and it gnaws on my very essence endlessly. Things happened so quickly, and next thing I knew she was no longer there. She was sublime, moreso than any soul that has ever compelled me to feel, and I feel left out for it. Like I have slapped the table where I eat hoping food would enter my mouth on its own volition. And due to this extraneous strain that never seems to want to go, my days no longer contain that copacetic edge to it. Everything else pales in comparison. She gave me that soft but unbearable lightness of being, that legal high that gives, despit...

The southern lights have just faded; mountains bursting forth out of thin air. It was always there, I reckon, but to fail the security check, it felt somewhat demystified, anticlimactic. My mother passed away a few weeks ago, and it has zapped me of what little humanity in me is left. Even though it was inevitable. Even though I had for months tried to push beyond what I am capable of. In that moment I saw my own mortality before my eyes, seeping into my consciousness, gnawing at my system, overlapping of thoughts I had of missing Ainhoa. It was unbearable. It is unbearable. I cannot fault life for gifting me this burden. It was inevitable. It is inevitable. Going through the holiday season with harsh penalties. She left me first, and she too left me, after all this time waiting. Never the same, we ponder. Never thwarting. Always amicable to hardships, and what for? This viral cacophony of wanting to do something about myself now rings true and rings ever so louder. Mother should have ...