Ennui

Spiraling in and out of reality. Scrubbing away at the past to remove the stench of euphoria that makes the corrosive toxicity of the present hard to bear. Life is okay. Really. Its just okay.

Just okay.

Just okay would be good enough. Should be good enough, but gnawing at my insides like a fatal disease are memories. Not of reciprocated love, nor of the inexplicable rapture of belonging. The memories that haunt me the most, the ones that are stuck fast in my psyche like Excalibur are of a state of mind. Of reckless abandon. Of careless disregard of eventualities, repercussions, consequences. Of a conviction that erased all doubt and apprehension and logic even, to make way only for that which felt right, which made sense to an intoxicated heart rather than a lucid mind. The ruthless belief in something bigger, greater, more powerful than everything else. Something so extraordinary that it over rides knowledge comprised over centuries of broken hearts and broken dreams. Something that is greater, truly greater than material wants and desires and social barricades on accomplishment.

It’s not the kisses or the hugs or the innuendos that grapple at my compromise with circumstantial ennui. But the lingering promise of hope that they enforced on a being hell bent on negating hope all the way to the grave.

It’s not a smile that brightened my day once and darkens it now, it’s the effect that I allowed the smile to inflict upon me, then and now, that invokes this utter disregard for the pursuit of extroversion in me which seems to inspire everyone else to continue to exist in a world constantly losing its artificial charm and illusive appeal

Its not the tears that stung my eyes, able to flow without male ego issues, but the fact that they could flow at all in the presence of this person who ultimately was no different, no better, no worse than any body else.

It’s what I chose that produces the anger now, not someone else’s decision. It’s what I decided to believe in, to buy into, the loss of which is what I find worthy of mourning rather than what was explicitly offered and then refused. Its not the denial of a dream built on smoke rising from the burning embers of passionate and surreal love, but the ability to have been able to build that dream in the first place that is lacking now.

It’s never other people, not loved ones, not enemies, who make life any better or worse than it is; it is instead what we choose to associate with those people, it is the extent to which we allow ourselves to be vulnerable at their hands that makes us enraptured first and resentful later.

I can picture now, a wedding at which I may or not be invited but at which, once I would’ve been the groom without any real sense of remorse or anger or envy or anything at all really. I can consider the consummation of that marriage now as the natural course of events unfolding without bitterness or jealousy, even without the myopic and utterly selfish and despicable pride of ‘been there done that’ and simply shake my head once, twice, maybe thrice with nothing more then a sense of compounded loss. I can do this now because it finally makes sense. Life, the place of love in life, the importance, the worthiness the significance of that one person who will forever remain a little higher than everybody else even if only in terms of chronological order. It is easy now, to hang on to the past without having my soul chaffed with friction because something I once said earlier makes a lot more sense now.

I don’t deny the existence of love after love. I’ve seen it too often to go and claim that once bitten we learn enough to not be bit again. Maybe we do learn, maybe we do figure out the proper plan of execution to make it work the next time around. Maybe the next time around we end up with someone who is actually better suited to the plan we originally formulated. Maybe someone more worthy of devotion and love, someone better, someone kinder, someone who cares more and for a longer period of time. Someone who is essentially the one person who should’ve been along for the first jump off the edge of reason. Maybe, maybe…

But it will still be someone else.

Someone else may be better, maybe worse… but it’s not good enough.

Just okay is not good enough.

Not anymore.