antemortem
rest after tomorrow
- 7,460
- Posts
- 13
- Years
- Age 26
- he/they
- Los Angeles
- Seen Jun 15, 2022
What I'm posting here is a very underdeveloped conglomerate of musings that have come to mind over the past couple of days. A lot of the inspiration comes from music I listen to, as I do my best thinking and pondering when I'm listening to music, and as such, I've written them down in the most appropriate way I thought possible. I'm not 100% sure the direction I'm taking with this, but I do hope to keep tacking on more... eventually. :p
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ride ///
The driver's side car door shuts gently. Bright convenience store lights whitewash the windshield. A rhythmic click of his sneakers against the gravel parking lot growing ever distant sends me into a state of slight panic for reasons beyond me when really I should be relieved. Should I? I unfasten my seat belt and climb into the back, pressing my back flat against the vertical part of the seat so the light just doesn't reach me. These moments of solitude are scarce, so I must take advantage of them to just… think without trepidation. It's not that my relationship is so restrained that I can't innocently think to myself, but it's hard to keep my thoughts bottled up and often he can read my body language better than even I can. And when your thoughts are being read faster than you can think them, it's difficult to even start to explain yourself, especially when a falter means the end of your world.
Just moments ago: window down, arm extended, chilled wind gently caressing my skin, the city lights peeking through the otherwise uncomfortable darkness of Los Angeles; the conditions of the night from our point of view were, at the time, the most salient to us. Nothing else was important, more indulgent than the moments we were sharing together. Our laughs, while silhouetted against the mellowing tunes blaring from the speakers of the Mustang from generations past, were swept along with the gale, echoing across the night sky. Even now at what is supposed to be the peak of my physical and emotional life, I find myself questioning whether or not these fleeting moments are anything other than frivolous. I've always cherished happiness and self-expression, but are those two things going to carry me on through life? I'm more than qualified to do with my life what I please, but something is holding me back. It might be more appropriate, however, to venture to say that thing is my life and if I were to let it go, it would be worse than suicide.
A warm body pressed against your own in the dead of night is one of the most comforting things I've ever experienced, second only to the raw feeling of being loved. Having someone to hold, to love, to love you back… isn't that what everyone wants in the end? As a young child, all anyone wants is to be whoever they look up to, whether that be some famous astronaut or detective that daddy commented on during a television program, or a housewife because you are a six year old girl not yet desensitized to social stereotypes. As a preteen and young teenager, we aren't even giving second wind to the future. The future, the perspective that comes into play in the mid-to-late teenage phase. At this point we're so frantically considering our futures and what we're going to do with our lives after high school that we completely lose sight of the only thing that we really care about and that's not grades or the money that our grades can potentially lead to. It's love. It's love. Or… perhaps this is my own id that is running rampant, bringing to light desires that I never knew I had and are far beyond my understanding. My mother always preached that we should aspire to reach for what calls to us, but did those words, so powerful when I was a simple minded, ignorant little boy, allude to affection? Or was my mother just spewing another one of her famously over-generalized statements?
It seems like nobody genuinely communicates with one another anymore. I understand that I was a feeble-minded child and that nothing she said really made sense until now, but everything is always sugarcoated, regardless of who's saying it. Nobody is ever truly honest. My boyfriend, who should be more honest with me than anyone else, will slip falsehoods into every day conversation. "Do you mind changing the channel from your favorite television show to this one that I know you'll like far less?" "Sure, I don't mind one bit." But what should be insignificant white lies anyone else would brush off mean so much more to me. Maybe it's not that they mean more, but they certainly give me a reason to be more conscious about what people are saying to me, especially those close to me. Are those the kinds of tradeoffs that commitment promises? Is love just a series of on-the-spot compromises that hopefully lead to the happiness of each party? Is that even really happiness? Why does everyone have to compromise for everyone to be happy? Can't everyone have their own way without having to give up a little bit of themselves? Or is that simply to argue that selfishness is the key rather than finding healthy middle grounds?
My mind aches at the thought that love, the one thing I've always been aspirant of, is basically an endless battleground, and I've found myself at the forefront of this war.
---
ride ///
The driver's side car door shuts gently. Bright convenience store lights whitewash the windshield. A rhythmic click of his sneakers against the gravel parking lot growing ever distant sends me into a state of slight panic for reasons beyond me when really I should be relieved. Should I? I unfasten my seat belt and climb into the back, pressing my back flat against the vertical part of the seat so the light just doesn't reach me. These moments of solitude are scarce, so I must take advantage of them to just… think without trepidation. It's not that my relationship is so restrained that I can't innocently think to myself, but it's hard to keep my thoughts bottled up and often he can read my body language better than even I can. And when your thoughts are being read faster than you can think them, it's difficult to even start to explain yourself, especially when a falter means the end of your world.
Just moments ago: window down, arm extended, chilled wind gently caressing my skin, the city lights peeking through the otherwise uncomfortable darkness of Los Angeles; the conditions of the night from our point of view were, at the time, the most salient to us. Nothing else was important, more indulgent than the moments we were sharing together. Our laughs, while silhouetted against the mellowing tunes blaring from the speakers of the Mustang from generations past, were swept along with the gale, echoing across the night sky. Even now at what is supposed to be the peak of my physical and emotional life, I find myself questioning whether or not these fleeting moments are anything other than frivolous. I've always cherished happiness and self-expression, but are those two things going to carry me on through life? I'm more than qualified to do with my life what I please, but something is holding me back. It might be more appropriate, however, to venture to say that thing is my life and if I were to let it go, it would be worse than suicide.
A warm body pressed against your own in the dead of night is one of the most comforting things I've ever experienced, second only to the raw feeling of being loved. Having someone to hold, to love, to love you back… isn't that what everyone wants in the end? As a young child, all anyone wants is to be whoever they look up to, whether that be some famous astronaut or detective that daddy commented on during a television program, or a housewife because you are a six year old girl not yet desensitized to social stereotypes. As a preteen and young teenager, we aren't even giving second wind to the future. The future, the perspective that comes into play in the mid-to-late teenage phase. At this point we're so frantically considering our futures and what we're going to do with our lives after high school that we completely lose sight of the only thing that we really care about and that's not grades or the money that our grades can potentially lead to. It's love. It's love. Or… perhaps this is my own id that is running rampant, bringing to light desires that I never knew I had and are far beyond my understanding. My mother always preached that we should aspire to reach for what calls to us, but did those words, so powerful when I was a simple minded, ignorant little boy, allude to affection? Or was my mother just spewing another one of her famously over-generalized statements?
It seems like nobody genuinely communicates with one another anymore. I understand that I was a feeble-minded child and that nothing she said really made sense until now, but everything is always sugarcoated, regardless of who's saying it. Nobody is ever truly honest. My boyfriend, who should be more honest with me than anyone else, will slip falsehoods into every day conversation. "Do you mind changing the channel from your favorite television show to this one that I know you'll like far less?" "Sure, I don't mind one bit." But what should be insignificant white lies anyone else would brush off mean so much more to me. Maybe it's not that they mean more, but they certainly give me a reason to be more conscious about what people are saying to me, especially those close to me. Are those the kinds of tradeoffs that commitment promises? Is love just a series of on-the-spot compromises that hopefully lead to the happiness of each party? Is that even really happiness? Why does everyone have to compromise for everyone to be happy? Can't everyone have their own way without having to give up a little bit of themselves? Or is that simply to argue that selfishness is the key rather than finding healthy middle grounds?
My mind aches at the thought that love, the one thing I've always been aspirant of, is basically an endless battleground, and I've found myself at the forefront of this war.
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