The Stories of Recycled Being : Supernova

From the outside appearance, I live a comfortable life. But deep inside, I feel so destitute. I feel so poor spiritually. There is this hollow space where I think it's supposed to be complete and concrete. Why do I feel this way?

I used to have a strong transcendental connection. I never doubted the Almighty and I believed entirely in the divine destiny. I was whole in my aloneness. I found my tranquility in my own head. I was happy, I was enough. But that only lasted until one soul was revealed in front of me. I’m starting to think that it’s a joke made in heaven. I can handle as much as intellectual or sexual feedback in any frequency and wavelength, but when it comes to emotional discharge, well, I have no proper channel for that.

Now what I have is the after party scene, where everybody has gone home. What remains here is the dirty dishes, the slight trace of various perfume scents of the guests in the air, the disappearing echo of people talking to each other, the warmth in my chest that starts to feel like cold night breeze, and the fact that I enjoyed every second of the ephemeral happiness when we were both together. I knew it’s a mistake simply because no life equation could foresee the outcome. If there was any probability, it would only lead to nowhere. I thought I could somehow mitigate it, but I was wrong. That was beyond my underdeveloped emotional function could handle. I decided to leave it in the past. It’s actually what I should have done from the very first time. I should have trusted my intuition first. But what is a regret if it comes before?

It would be stupid not to learn from this. Being broken in pieces like this is actually a great chance to do some reverse engineering on myself to understand how I function. Maybe I was born to be alone. Maybe I was never meant to be loved. Maybe the huge love I have in me that I long to share isn't meant to exist, like a vestigial organ waiting to be cut. Maybe I don't deserve the simple happiness two mortals can share with one another. Maybe it's just not for me. More importantly, maybe I'll be okay with that.

Originally written on February 21, 2017

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.