In Acrylic

Maybe the woman abandoned this child. I decided to scratch that thought. The child is loved. There were just unavoidable circumstances. I changed the narrative in case the professor thinks it’s autobiographical.

I looked at it. Sleeping, maybe a bit too sad, or too happy. Its facial expression doesn’t change but it seems to give off this energy of desperation. Like I wanted it to be happy, so I kept adjusting the air conditioning unit. Take it to that sublime temperature. Sometimes I overdid it. I found that it works, imagining slices of hope. Maybe the room wasn’t well lit enough for it to see ‘anything’ that’s why it chose to close its eyes.

It communicates. Despite what everyone says, I’m sure it can. Even though it was enclosed in an acrylic box it wasn’t ready for burial. The space could sustain an organism: just enough nutrients for the harvest.

Parked Cars

But I have to pretend everything is fine. Lesson learned: never overcompensate with synthetic adrenaline. Forcing tedious moments to seem significant. It never is.

There’s that crash afterwards. When you realize the futility of your existence, bursts of happiness seem fake in retrospect. Turning off the ignition and the engine’s white noise stops. You’re not going anywhere anymore. You’re exactly back to when the day begun. Zero Displacement. I’m finally home.

It should’ve been relief at the prospect of the cold bed enveloping my body. I don’t want that. I just want to sit still in the garage, in a parked car.

Maybe I’m not the only one pushing an imaginary boulder in hopes of progress. I’m scared to change velocity. Maybe we all are. Don’t let temporary bliss blind that burden.