A recent chronology of my life

Seven years ago, a lifetime ago, we all broke. I didn’t let it sink in back then. Now I contemplate how other people see those few weeks. For some, they were full of joy, with the sun shining on their fate. Most were living an ordinary life: what happened then anyway? I only remember the cold. The walls were cold and dark, and I let it oxidize my soul. Everything that follows builds upon this rust.

Five years ago, I was exploring a different world alone. I was strutting in a uniform, excited to leave everyone, everything I had known behind. I let my mind have refuge in a life that wasn’t mine but one that I was living to the fullest. It was an adventure I embarked on with no consideration. I had my chance to move past all that had defined me and constrained me.

Three years ago was the first time my life was real. My first passions and my first heartbreak happened in the blink of an eye. I saw my city in ways I will never see it again. I remember the steps I took to your home. I remember the flight we all took and the fun we had. That’s what life is supposed to be like, I thought. This is what others felt. These were the colors of their memories. They have a lust for life that lasts a century.

Two years ago, the world stopped. I saw things I would only see in movies. I heard things I don’t understand to this day. You left us, and the balance swerved. The room started flying and turning. The blood you vomited stained our hearts forever. Whatever happens, I always go back to thinking about those minutes in which you took your last breath.

A year ago, I forgot about all of this. My numbness and shock made way for you to become my new meaning of life. You made me forget the home I lost ever existed. We shared two rings and an entire future ahead of us. I was building something for the first time, and you destroyed it so cruelly. You taught me my worthlessness.

Twelve hours ago, it all collapsed. All these years are a part of me I have to avoid to continue living. All life has taught me is to forget. I don’t want to feel or know anything anymore. How much more will life deceive me? Whenever I close my eyes, I feel the coldness in which I was born. Half of my life consists of futile attempts at warming myself up.