It was Christmas, a lonely Christmas. He had nothing to do except introspecting about all of the poor life’s choices he had made in the past years. From going to college to not studying for college and getting a part-time job that both ruined his moral and exhausted him to death, none of those decisions neither made his mom -nor him- proud.
And instead of agreeing to spend Christmas with his mother, he had somehow thought this was a good idea to stay alone and watch fucking animes. What the fuck was wrong with him? How many 20-year-olds were dreaming about spending time with their family? How many of them just wished their family would think about them? But since when he ever thought before making a stupid decision.
Anyways, here he was. Alone. And bored. How did this happen? How did he manage to fuck his life up so much?
He used to spend hours with his friends just years ago, did they not like him anymore? Did the mask wear off? Did the ugliness of it suddenly appeared? Did they all realised that under all of those thin layers of sarcasm and irritation, the man behind was only dust and ashes? That he had perished a long time ago?
Maybe he needed to see a therapist. Maybe all those anxious thoughts didn’t appear in sane people’s brains. Maybe his friends loved him, maybe if he told himself that enough times a day, if he lied to himself enough, the lie would work his way through him.
The purr of the cat sitting next to him felt like cold water running along his spine. A shower of reality, a sudden comeback of what was around him like he suddenly remembered how little he mattered to the world. Who cares if he’s another society’s failure, as long as he can live on with his cat and the little money his mom gave him.
Though his mind was chaos, if at that moment he felt like nothing mattered, if he felt like mundane could surpass the idea of doing great things in life, the moment when that thought was gone, he would collapse on himself, he would think about how much work he had to do, whether it came from college or life itself, it would be pandemonium.
Those two different states of mind could not cohabit. One would take control and immediately contradict the other, there was no in between.
As far as he remembered he had never felt butterflies in his stomach, or anything close to what people's vision of happiness seemed to be, or at least he thought. He thought happiness was easy to notice, that it took whatever form he wanted, but that it was always huge like birds flying right at one’s nose. But he had omitted that for something to be seen, however big it was, however obvious it was, it needed eyes to acknowledge it. No blind mind could accept happiness. Unless it was gone. Unless the place it took suddenly became empty and you could move freely, feeling the hole that it left.
It happened to him, once, like a blatant knife piercing through his skin. As the saying goes, you don’t see the worth of it until it’s gone. But it’s not that he didn’t notice the value of it, it’s more like it came so quietly that he didn’t have time to discern it from all of the garbage that came with it.
That’s what he told himself. But it was more likely that shame took over him and denied every second of happiness he received. That blind mind of his, insensitive to the happiness, however obvious it was, was filled with shame and ignominy. Shame of thinking that perhaps one single person could overcome all of his barriers, like he didn’t spend years stopping himself from feeling any attachment toward anyone, like they weren’t barriers made of cement but instead an open door with a smooth carpet in front of it, challenging each and every person to come in.
Now he was gone. Now the only thing he, the only person that ever brought him a sight of happiness, left was nothing but a shape his size in Mo GuanShan’s heart. He left nothing but mud all over he walked, from that redhead’s heart to his head.
Here, sitting on his couch, he could only look back to the times he had spent with him. How could his heart, all at once, feel like melting and freezing, leaving ache in his head and despair in his life.
But since when he decided what path his life would take, since when he decided which paths others would take, no matter how much those leaves bruises when they were going away from his. No matter how much it pained that his and He Tian’s path had only crossed before tearing apart. How much it pained that he had no choices in the matter. It was fate, and he could not change fate, no matter how much he tried.
But deep thoughts weren’t tonight’s matter. His horologe struck eleven and, as the sun was falling, he remembered he had a night shift.