What The F Issue 23

persist

by Tess Beiter the taste of burnt coffee lies thick on my tongue and the cold wind slices through the sweatshirt i’ve worn for five days straight. i haven’t had the energy to shower in days, so i bundle up and brave the outside world because it’s all i know how to do. the staring people, the pressing expectations, and the dizziness of it all overwhelms me; i blink and suddenly i’m in class, i blink again and i’m done for the day. life is no longer a journey, but a stumble, a monotonous and sleep-deprived haze. the girl in front of me in the dining hall line has long glossy hair. she laughs into the phone, and i can’t help but invent stories for her, wistful tales in an attempt to explain who she could be calling. it’s her long-distance partner, reminiscing over the awkward way she first asked them out; or maybe it’s her mother, gently chiding her over not calling sooner; or maybe it’s her older sister, reaching out to check in on her freshman year; or maybe, or maybe, or maybe. i’ve noticed a pattern— since i don’t have the energy to create memories myself, i invent them for others and fervently wish i had what they do, a vicious cycle of longing for the fictional perfection of others. life is supposed to be beautiful; this is what i’m told, but have long lost the ability to comprehend. the light in my eyes has dwindled to a dull flicker and i fear the dark circles beneath them will consume me, erasing every trace of who I used to be. life wasn’t always like this, i’m sure, but it’s getting increasingly hard to remember a time when it felt different, bright and joyful rather than ugly and dim. i live suspended between glimpses of beauty, sustained by occasional scraps of joy. a cloudless blue sky in winter a deep, stomach-aching laugh with friends the comforting warmth of a spiced chai latte the smile of a passing stranger on my way to class a sudden desire to dance alone in my room the nostalgia of an unexpectedly beautiful sunset these are the moments i live for— sprays of blood-red flowers against a snowy backdrop, a rare glimpse of beauty in an otherwise numb existence. they stun me, sustaining but not satiating, so that I always crave more. the hunger they instill gnaws at me, whittling me down to my bones, a constant and intense reminder that life should be more than the dreamlike state i’m existing in. but i’m stubborn, strong-willed, persistent, and can cling to these moments during the intermittent and ravenous haze. one day i’ll uncurl from this dream, like a flower turning towards the sun; but until then, i will persist. it’s all i know how to do.