You wake up every fucking day to a king-sized bed alone. You keep on telling yourself that you did not develop the habit of sleeping on only one side of the bed because you are lonely. Of course not, you are perfectly fine, nothing is stopping you especially not some illogical thing called 'emotions'. Silently you touch the clean side of the bed, the one you did not sleep on and you smoothed the already straightened covers. Then you act as if there was actually someone there, you caress the imaginary grown up lovingly then stopped. What if someone sees you? You are in your prime and your image will be shattered. So you jump out of bed and walk a tad bit fast towards the bathroom.
As you brush your teeth with mint toothpaste, your eyes lingering on a cup filled with a toothbrush, a tube of cinnamon toothpaste and a hairbrush. All of them never once used; one look at it and any sane person would guess that it had just been taken out from their casing. You imagined that a person one day would finally be able to use them. You see the person walking in and giving you a kiss on the cheek before using all that is in the cup. The images then disappear, the toothbrush, cinnamon toothpaste and hairbrush lie untouched as it had been for ages. You spat into the sink, gargled and undressed. You hung your towel next to another one; unused.
After your bath, you walk back into your room and opened the cabinet filled with your clothes. There are two of these actually, the other one is empty, it had never ever tasted clothes, never had the feeling of a hanger clinging onto its steel bar and its drawers had never been filled with anything. It is in truth a sad cabinet, always consumed by jealousy by it's neighbour, the one you open every single day, the one which always have hangers cling to the steel bars, the one which you spend each day wondering which underwear to put on when you pull the drawers open. It always pondered why it had been placed there. It served no function. Non whatsoever.
You walk into the kitchen and see the person, your special someone eating biscuits; once in a while dipping it into a mug of hot coffee. Your mug is also filled with steaming coffee, only that the biscuits are of a different kind, you can never enjoy the other type of biscuit. Whenever you eat it, it crumbles into a billion tiny pieces and it feels like eating flour. Once again the images shatter and everything is gone, there is no steaming mugs of coffee, no biscuits that turns into a billion tiny pieces when you eat them, nothing. There is only you, and you need to get to work. Before leaving the house, you sigh. Suddenly your face brighten up when you feel a peck on your cheek. You turn around to see only a fly buzzing away, somewhat in a mocking manner. Just a fucking fly. Just a motherfucking good for nothing
musca domestica.
You go to work and you get so consumed with the affairs of other people you don't fucking know that you forget everything about the outside world. Or to be more accurate, anything that doesn't get involved in your line of work gets ignored immediately. You are extremely committed. At times you hate it.
When everybody else start to pack their bags and wait in front of the elevator to go back to whatever was on their minds, you stayed back. You take your time finalizing deals and recalculating accounts. Many of your associates would come to your office and ask you to join his group for a drink at a nearby diner. Each time you would reject on the basis of having a shitload of work to do. In fact, you only have to sign your name and everything that week would be done. Sometimes you really want to go. Sometimes you'd love to just drop everything and run after them, patting their backs or tell really good jokes that you know will leave them roaring on the floor but in the end, you force yourself to suppress the urges. Sometimes you even tell them there's somebody special waiting for you at home.
When everybody is finally gone, you pack your bags, turn off the lights and walk slowly, enjoying the atmosphere in the office. Peaceful and serene, it contradicts the hustle and bustle during the day. It is like jumping out of a warzone and landing in a fairytale book. As you make for the exit, you would look at the janitor cleaning the area. If he or she seem to be doing the work with a certain level of enthusiasm, you will give him or her a sum of money. Nothing much, just to show your appreciation. As you walk to your car, you imagine a car behind you honking. It turns out to be your special someone coming to pick you up from work all the way from the other side of town. Turning down offers from everybody, your special someone had driven all the way just to meet you and maybe have a romantic dinner if both of you aren't too tired. Of course you would say you aren't tired, in the end, both of you will go to a romantic dinner somewhere fancy. Finally, a car in the real world will blare it's honk and you get ripped away from the dream world. Cursing, you make your way to your car, unlock the doors and drive home fast.
Entering your house, again your imagination tells you that your special someone is in there cooking something spicy. Your favourite, of course, that goes without saying. However, your million dollar home is empty, dark and the only thing that might be in there are some supernatural being that you keep on telling yourself doesn't exist. You turn on the lights, cook dinner and watched a movie or two. Alone. All alone. You will change into your pajamas and close the lights and slip under the comforter at one side of the king size bed.
Until one day, one fine day where everything goes wrong. You are at your worst, the water heater broke down spraying you with icy water, your clothes are torn, you can't find a match for your socks...
You wake up in the middle of the night, depressed and weak and all you need is just someone to hold you and tell you everything will be alright but nobody is there. You scream profanities, you trash your room, you tear off locks of your hair and finally, you crumple up and break down, crying your heart out telling yourself that this is not fair. You deserve a special person to attend to your needs andto whisper to you words of love. To use the toothbrush, cinammon toothpaste and hairbrush in the bathroom, to fill the deprived and jealous cabinet with clothes and underwear, to just use the fucking towel that everybody thinks it is a spare one. Just to do those things.
The next day, you wake up and the same cycle repeats itself.
You embrace the loneliness and consume it knowing very well it is too powerful for you to handle.
You are an over imaginative fuck whose associate think of as a recluse.
This is your life.
A/N: Please la give fucking good feedback. I'm tired. To those out there, cringe. This is your fucking life.
Lo and fucking behold. Crazy ey? That's what light pollution does. It covers up the sky.