Chapter Text
Just as light as the time felt with you, as heavy time is now, just trying to pass through
Your face once brought me never ending dreams, now the nightmares show me that not everything is as it seems.
I miss your voice less with every day, because I‘m too…
„…too what? Caught up in blurring every thought that appears in my head? Busy trying to get high again? …Fuck this.“ 2swag placed the pen down that was just in his hand, after fidgeting with the loose button on it.
There was a thin line of steam rising from the table, where a moment ago the young adult tried to have his first meal of the day. The windows didn’t allow a lot of light inside either, if there was any at all. The time had almost hit midnight again and 2swag barely noticed.
The line of steam followed down to an aluminum foiled portion of noodles that were left inside his fridge for multiple days, from an evening where he managed to order something for himself. He didn’t eat it, wasn’t sure whether you should.
Normally you’d be taught things like that you weren’t supposed to reheat tuna by your parents, but they were only there for the material things. 2swag had seen many countries, been to many all-inclusive holidays and now they paid for his apartment. They didn’t know about his absence for college and didn’t bother to check in.
He wasn’t even mad at them, because it had always been that way. His parents provided for him but missed out on the love and care they should provide. To be fair it didn’t bother him anymore and never really has. Maybe he was used to it or maybe he became just like them.
A heavy sigh escaped his mouth when 2swag leaned against the couch, his back against the soft cushions. He took a deep breath in and all he could notice was the heavy smell of smoke and weed, but it was a good way to get him off other bad thoughts. At least for a short moment, he could worry about the horrible condition both his apartment and himself were in and let the guilt crash into his mind for a weird moment of comfort.
He stood up and sat back on the faded brown chair, slid it over the floor with an ugly squeak and lazily grabbed the fork. Summer was slowly approaching and it was getting hotter in his small apartment, on the third floor. He wasn’t supposed to wear sweaters anymore and felt the consequences, which was the warm sweat running down his neck. Taking off the sweater wasn’t an option either though, because it still had a certain smell. The kind that made you feel guilty for wearing the sweater because you don’t want the smell to fade.
2swag poked his fork into the food a bunch of times. It looked like he was trying to perform a medical procedure rather than him trying to get himself to lift one of the noodles into his mouth. Eventually he thought back to why he started writing in the first place…
He sat at the table before already but lost appetite each time he stared at the empty space in front of him. Then he thought about what his therapist has said to him, about trying to do something creative when he was feeling down.
Funny enough, he always felt ‚down‘. 2swag knew though, that the therapist wasn’t all wrong. He used to going out, exploring the world or better said, following his hobby of urbexing, but now that wasn’t an option anymore.
The therapist asked him to name creative things, when suggesting doing something and in that moment 2swag felt like he was in 4th grade, having to see a speech therapist because of his lisp. Back then they also asked him questions, that felt… inappropriate in a way. He remembered his answer pretty clearly though, which is odd, but then again for some reason he always remembers the things from his therapy sessions. Maybe because deep down he does want to change. Maybe even get better.
„I don’t know, dude. Write a poem? Draw?“, he had said to the therapist. Normally he’d be more professional in a place like that, but he couldn’t be asked to bring up the care, nor did it feel like he had to act like that around the man that wasn’t even a lot older than him. He did do a pretty good job though, even if it wasn’t really helping 2swag’s condition. Especially when he wasn’t the one who reached out to a therapist. Most likely because he should have been put in a mental hospital instead. But those were too expensive around here.
So, instead, he sat down to write a poem about his feelings, figured he can’t and doesn’t want to express his thoughts using rhymes or any stylistic language, dropped the pencil and… the rest is referred to in the lines above.
2swag swallowed spit, almost in disgust, as he looked down to the meal in front of him and then took out his phone. He placed it against the pot of the flower that looked just as dead as him and turned on YouTube. Old habit when he used to be alone in the apartment. Daily routine now, because he was always alone in the apartment. It felt better to pretend you weren’t alone and listen to the overwhelming happy voices of people you never met and never would. Even those stopped pretending they were always doing well though, but no one related to the months of ‚not always doing well‘ that the 21 year old was experiencing.
Reluctantly he lifted his arm and started chewing on one of the penne noodles. It tasted odd, especially with the beige sauce on top of them, but it was better than eating nothing at all. Slowly he managed to finish almost 1/3 of the plate and then finally threw the rest into the empty trash.
The rest of the day was spent just the same like the others. Sitting on the couch and staring out the window, until he went to bed and looked on his phone until he passed out. It all felt the same, so it didn’t matter either way.