anemoia

by Zerjemae C. Zaragoza

We fall apart like plucked blossoms, like stars at the end of their lifespans, except not as grand and poetic, nor tranquil and picturesque— only an ending that resembles happy if you squint hard enough that tragedy blurs amongst stalls of lantern lights.

It’s funny and infuriating all at once, how much life likes clean sheets warmed by sun, but time likes them cold and drenched, and how you are in the middle of their petty arguments about which glass should be filled today— misery or happiness, war or peace? And usually, the fights end in compromise. “Let humanity experience the best of both worlds in one decade, even better if in one day—best in one paradoxical minute that stretches into a lifetime like skin.”

illustration by Joseph Bryant J. de los Santos

Joseph Bryant J. de los Santos

So just like that, we become the guinea pigs of this equation, answering the questions: What is pain divided by regret? Or multiplied by tomorrow?

I think, we will never know the answer to the experiments we were subjected to, because time and life, no matter how much they claw at each other’s throats for control, end up in caresses and hugs that exclude us. So really, what weapon of ours is worthy enough to defeat two gods in love? The answer: none. So we suffer, as we have millenniums ago and as we will centuries later. Because time and life stretch like bubblegum, smear themselves in every timeline, mix and match enlightenment with ignorance, through months and years until it’s all a blur.