Empty Oasis
I feel it, a soul-crushing weight, a sour, spreading melancholy. What is this? Is this me? I no longer recognize the shape of my own love. Everyone I held, everyone I named... dissolved. Quietly. Like they were never whole. I stand in a crowded room and the noise is simply silence in a distinct yet eerily familiar form.
I see it clearly now. Their smiles, rehearsed. Their love, transactional, a lease signed on my usefulness, not my soul. This knowing did not arrive all at once. The universe is too cruel for mercy like that, it came in doses, measured, deliberate, until one day the doses became the ground I stood on.
And now I am buried in what I finally understand.
Shall I resign? Should I end it all? Do you hear me, cold and indifferent universe? You hollow animal, you unrelenting, desolate thing... I am empty. I am of no use to you now.
You've drained what was once an oasis: rich with dream, with desire, with the burgeoning persistence of love. What remains is cracked earth. What remains is an empty oasis. I grow weary of an existence excavated without my permission.
Give me rest. Not an ending, just silence. Just one moment where existence does not demand so much of a person who has nothing left to give.
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