Tuesday night, you went home 7 hours after you accidently left the door key inside with the lock on. It's been raining these couple of days after the 4 o'clock barrier. You finished your thesis before the semestre ran out of time, and one month later you're still here doing nothing, or probably just desperately trying to take in the last view of the place that you've ever stayed longer than your parent's place.
Tuesday night, you stayed in your room by yourself, as usual. But something's different this time around, you're watching tv. You don't watch tv. Something's wrong, you got too much time on your hands, and you're at a loss of what to do. You like to read, but now is not the moment. Your computer is on and connected to the internet, as usual. So many names are there hanging on the thin line, some are available while others are either idle, busy, away or plain invisible, like you. The fact that their number equals the number of names in your cellphone does little to help you in conjuring up a single smile.
Tuesday night, you turned off the tv after the final line of the credits escaped to the upper part of the screen. You guided your glance towards the pictures of sexy chicks on the monitor, paychecks for your multi-hour "investigative" hard work in front of the computer. They turned you on, of course they do. Still you can't manage to make a smile surface onto your face, you just stare at them cold. You can only stare lifelessly into the emptiness of your life.
And it's moments like this, Tuesday night, that reminds you what a lonely person you are, despite the glorious academic radiance, the charm emitting out of solo cycling tours, quick thinking, brilliant ideas, and your witty remarks. None of them come to your aid at this state of emergency. The one that does, and always has been coming, is an overwhelming feelings that fancies to address herself as Solitude.
Tuesday night, you are desperate, and you have a feeling that you've forseen the future. A future full of nothing but Tuesday nights because you are what you are. People come to you when they need you to do something for them, a question they couldn't figure out for example, or when they were in a dire need to be entertained by something to make this senseless life easier to forget. Apart from that they don't even think about you, out of sight out of mind. Cruel, but every bit as real as the pain produced when a projectile hits you. And just like scars, they never fade, rather they amass, and one day, probably a Tuesday night, you will realize that you are in the inferno that you can never leave.
Tuesday night, you stayed in your room by yourself, as usual. But something's different this time around, you're watching tv. You don't watch tv. Something's wrong, you got too much time on your hands, and you're at a loss of what to do. You like to read, but now is not the moment. Your computer is on and connected to the internet, as usual. So many names are there hanging on the thin line, some are available while others are either idle, busy, away or plain invisible, like you. The fact that their number equals the number of names in your cellphone does little to help you in conjuring up a single smile.
Tuesday night, you turned off the tv after the final line of the credits escaped to the upper part of the screen. You guided your glance towards the pictures of sexy chicks on the monitor, paychecks for your multi-hour "investigative" hard work in front of the computer. They turned you on, of course they do. Still you can't manage to make a smile surface onto your face, you just stare at them cold. You can only stare lifelessly into the emptiness of your life.
And it's moments like this, Tuesday night, that reminds you what a lonely person you are, despite the glorious academic radiance, the charm emitting out of solo cycling tours, quick thinking, brilliant ideas, and your witty remarks. None of them come to your aid at this state of emergency. The one that does, and always has been coming, is an overwhelming feelings that fancies to address herself as Solitude.
Tuesday night, you are desperate, and you have a feeling that you've forseen the future. A future full of nothing but Tuesday nights because you are what you are. People come to you when they need you to do something for them, a question they couldn't figure out for example, or when they were in a dire need to be entertained by something to make this senseless life easier to forget. Apart from that they don't even think about you, out of sight out of mind. Cruel, but every bit as real as the pain produced when a projectile hits you. And just like scars, they never fade, rather they amass, and one day, probably a Tuesday night, you will realize that you are in the inferno that you can never leave.
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