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Pillow talk

I used to write things, date them. I’ve had them lined up in my Notes for forever now. I’ve filled up at least a dozen of notebooks. Not that writing makes me feel better, it does not. It just provides a sense of sanity when your thoughts are too loud; when the loudness screams “insane”. You see, there are a lot of people around, some times. And some other times, you’re left alone resting on your pillow. I’ve always been certain about the duality of pillows: they’re your worst nightmares and closest, warmest friends. You long for them. You long for their softness and the way they’ll make everything better the next day. You also fear being alone with them at night, alone. Throughout our lives, pillows are the only objects to stick with us through thick and thin; mainly thick. Every living creature on Earth dies alone. Make peace with that; you will have to, one day. We go through this life like everything just doesn’t matter. Everything perishes. Plain sand and dust. Damn. Humans go through life making things better. It’s like your goal in life is to make things better. Just innovate. Redesign. Fix. Iterate. Automate. Who created this goal? When was the last time someone stopped at their tracks and looked at the bigger picture. To where are we heading and why? Haven’t the dystopias taught you anything? Maybe they’re not dystopias after all. What if the dystopias that we think of are actually utopias. Everything is relative to the holder’s perspective. There were creatures roaming this earth centuries before we even knew they existed. They came to an end. As will we. As will the ones that come after us. As this Earth. Times are funny. We created the concept of time just to be slaves of our ancestors’ creations. We created the concept of love and heartbreak to normalize the depressive emotions of being hurt. We created the concept of socializing just to put up justified barriers and walls. We created life. Just to drag it to the mud. We’re by far the worst version of creation. We’ve strayed from the main purpose since it isn’t essential anymore. There’s no point in surviving if you’re not fitting, somewhere, by someone’s standards. Survival is a funny concept that we have no idea about. We don’t care about other species. We’ve conquered, or so at least we think we did. We’ve reached a utopia from which everything goes down. And down it goes, to a more corrupt, broken, sick, dystopia. Down we go.


Down we go. 


And that was just some sick pillow talk.

Sep 11, 2021

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