生病

I fear I’m too sick, and I may end up alone. But even the sick settle, I suppose.

At 19, I used to violently sob about my parent's divorce and grab hold of my gut, like they were related, somehow. I knew they weren’t, but the pain comes out altogether. I learnt that all on my own.

I looked down as I pissed on the wall.

I had stopped shaving after I stopped believing in love, or when I stopped thinking anyone would see me naked, at least. I also stopped believing that people could like each other long enough to care.

They tell me that you get wet for love, or you get your dick wet from love. Some kind of love, whether it be physical or delusional.

After a while, you outgrow your pining and yearning for raw and utmost closeness, which usually manifests as intimate or physical touch. But love and sex are intertwined, or so I’ve heard, from those who have experienced it and told me so.

So that’s why, if one day, an archeologist finds my skeleton and wonders why I had been hideously ungroomed, I hope they might realise that I wasn’t interested in love, and I never was.

But, they probably won’t find my carcass, and that’s the despondent truth.