Our Sorrows
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The argument of time is mentally incapacitating. Ah, but "time is linear"; "time is fluid"; "time is an illusion"; "time is limitless"; "time is short and valuable". Many will fight over what is objectively behind the clock, but yet they do not like to talk about the effects that time has on them, despite the fact that it is the one thing they all share.

Time is cold, with no feeling toward anything that is within its bounds. Time stretches and touches all in different ways, and does not have the capacity of empathy as us. There is that strange sadness that is felt when the dark hallway is stared into for too long; it eats you slowly, awakening the poison within your soul.

The nostalgia is supposed to be a good feeling, it is supposed to make you laugh, smile, or cause a hint of deep fondness. But alas, here you are, feeling a distant sadness, wondering where it all went down below.

The hotel hallways of fun holiday trips with your family, with your school, your friends, you never knew it would become just a memory. But here you are, staring into the dark foreboding hallway, hoping that you could wake up and be a child again.

A child that was uncapable of digesting such depressive realities, one that could dream away the bad things happening to them, one that could run away in their dreams. But you are older now, and your dreams are nothing short of bitter and a reminder that no, you cannot run away from your life. Not anymore.

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You're out of time.

The dream pushes you forward, the vision a blur, and soon your eyes look up a single flight of dull orange stairs. The goosebumps rise on your precious skin, as you swear to yourself that you feel eyes in the darkness above.

Your instinct tells you to stay, to run away yet again, to find a sweet comfort, but you know better than yourself. You go up the metal stairs, hoping to find a door that could be opened, so you did not have to face this sting.

But the door is locked, and you are stuck here. You did this to yourself, you knew you could never relive childhood innocence. But yet… you're here. You want to try to experience that same joy.

You should know better that your past joys are left in the past. You can never go back, and you can never be young again. You cannot be consumed by regret, that does not help you. You are making it worse.

Can you hear me? Why…can't you hear me? You cannot use your dreams to run anymore. Always a few paces away, it does not matter whether you are running, walking, or staying still. I am fading away, forever fleeting.

You cannot find me, because I am always hiding behind you.

rating: +3+x

Our Sorrows was written by AequilibriumAequilibrium with critique from FerranteFerrante, L1ght NateL1ght Nate, 1000dumplings1000dumplings. The images used in the article were taken by AequilibriumAequilibrium




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