Tribulation [h.s]

20

"Hold on
Hold on
Don't be scared
You'll never change what's been and gone."

-

Time it's infinite. 

When the clocks strike twelve, it's a telltale of a new day. The neverending pattern repeats, all the same, and the clocks continue counting down the hours until another new day, new month, new year begin. Time never stops; it's changing yet, never changing. It has its own unique flow, never to be disturbed, and it always passes with an eerie divinity.

So tell me, if time is infinite and changing yet never changing, why is it so daunting?

I've said this before but, I'm not afraid of death. I'm just scared of leaving my little sister behind to grow up in this shit world all alone.  I'm scared of leaving my best friend, Julie, behind to fight her demons all alone.

I've thought about how they'd be better off without me plenty of times, but I stay because I'm afraid of leaving behind the people who may need me, even in the slightest bit. After all, I know what it's like to be left behind, and I could never do that to them.

However, this logic doesn't make time daunting to me.

That's why, as I rack my brain for answers as to why time seems so daunting to me, it's not a fear of death or leaving behind my loved ones. The only explanation I can come up with is anger. Hatred even. It doesn't make sense, and it certainly isn't rational.

I look out to the cityscape that reads a colorful story in the dark of night with bright lights, each color from the rainbow.

Billboards, streetlights, honking cars, and traffic.

I hate this fucking place.

Time is daunting because I'm stuck, and life is passing me by. Each and every day, there seems to be a new bruise, a new scar, a new nightmare. For me, life doesn't seem to get better with time. It's only ever gotten worse. So, why am I here?

Anger, frustration, screaming. Manic laughs, drowning, bitter acceptance.

Why am I here?

The only time I feel worth anything is when my existence somehow benefits the ones I love. Outside of that, I don't really have a place here. Not really. I don't think I ever did.

So why am I fucking here?

I could keep asking myself that until my voice faded, but I don't think I'll ever get an answer. Not a straight one anyway. So, fuck time, fuck all the people who've hurt me, fuck my life, fuck Harry, fuck New York, fuck the fucking world. To hell with it all. Let it burn.

I look down below me, my eyes gazing over the busy street below. Mothers rushing home late from work, homeless hidden in corners, desperate for warmth, loiterers, dealers, teenagers running about late, laughing and squealing.

I almost laugh when I realize I'm doing it again—watching life pass me by.

Man, I forgot that I'm an emotional drunk.

After a few more sips from the bottle of tequila in my hand, my mind wonders to nonother than Harry.

You know, I'm not sure why Harry didn't kill me before this. He's had many opportunities for ample reasons. I was bound to be killed at some point. That much has always been obvious. It was only ever a matter of time.

I tried to be safe—to come up with a plan to get out alive. I did it once before, even though the end result wasn't delightful. The end result was me. The me that I am today.