Entry #2

Everyone expects you to struggle in life, but for whatever reason, I struggle more at the sight of paper.

I guess that I could start by saying that I am a bit of a overachiever, and I wish I could do a better job sharing my feelings. For whatever reason, I keep having this recurrent thought that I am not meant for happiness. So, whenever I feel joy, I think the world is off its axis which, and in all fairness, it does seem to be.

I learned that being alive loses all meaning if you can’t manage to get the details right, but how are you supposed to describe a life-changing event? When this amount of emotions overwhelm you, it feels impossible to write about anything else other than masculine melancholy. But yes, I feel some sort of excitement. I feel loss. I feel both free and trapped. I feel fear and loneliness — both the good kind and the bad one.

What I am trying to say is that, tonight, I am finding the words that I couldn’t yesterday afternoon.

Entry #7

I’ve been told that you are supposed to write everyday, but I don’t always find the strength, the wisdom, or the necessity to share. I have lost the track of time, and most days just seem to escape me. Of course I am doing the work — doing what I am supposed to — , but it is surprising to see the amount of time I spend in my own memories, in my own regrets. However, I acquired this habit of always watching the sun in the horizon. Insomnia has to be useful somehow, right?

Entry #9

Well, I don’t know if this is important, but I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours listening to the same song. Scratch that, the same freaking verse. I keep repeating it, over and over, like I am some teenage kid.
Just thought someone should know about it…

Entry #14

The first call finally came through, yet sadly, it wasn’t a long one. I don’t feel comfortable thinking that some “stranger” might be hearing all my thoughts, all my passions, all my sabotages. Therefore, I didn’t get to say all the things I wanted to, but I guess that isn’t a surprise now is it? Awkward conversations always seem to happen when you have so much to say with those you love the most. Somethings do not change regardless of where you are.

But I promise, I still remember the dimples on your cheeks.
I still remember your face.

Entry #23

I’ve developed a constant nausea.
It is not just the constant feeling of everything turning around me, but the idea of everything that I am missing. They keep telling me I should go out more, but I get this nagging gut feeling in my stomach that facing whatever lies outside could make me forget all the memories I hold dear.

And I don’t wanna forget. Not right now, at least.

Entry #28

I often think about you.
Places usually have a remembrance of their own. They guard conversations and flirty eyes. Yet, if anything gets me more than anything, is the way your face lightens up after you smile under half-lit halogens. I wish we could go back to the night we saw each other under the moonlight — I’ll always remember those eyes. Yet, I keep looking around me, and even if you will never be able to live this phase of my life alongside me, I carry you around with every step forward that I take.

Why is it that I can still see your smile written all over the world?

Entry #30

A month has gone by, and regardless of the narrative, I can’t see beyond the dark sky.

…And I can only hope I am worth it.

Entry #31

Am I supposed to count months every thirtieth or every thirty-first?
I don’t think these small details are supposed to be this complicated, but I often get into arguments over the habits and patters that I seem to miss with every passing day. I don’t care what they keep saying over the news, overthinking should be considered a form of impairment — such a cruel and vicious way to feel incapacitated.

Entry #49

My insomnia isn’t getting better, and these white pills aren’t kind.
Yet, the music isn’t falling short of talent. The same verses pursue me, but I’ll feel better when the headaches go away…

Entry #55

Out of all the things I thought I would miss when I no longer felt your presence, the pressure of your thumb upon the back of my hand wasn’t one of them.

However, loneliness is intoxicating.
That idea, along with the belief that I am capable of following those dreams I thought I lost along the way, has opened a new perspective on my life. But I must remain grounded — I must not become isolated.

Your smile must not vanish from my memory.
Your face remains intact.

Entry #63

Somehow, I have created this fantasy that I pass through a framework of lights and pretend I see this house — one that reminds me of the place you used to live.

I stare silently at a main façade with narrow windows covered by dirty magenta curtains, a grey door that gets stuck every time you try to open it from the inside, and a shattered flowerbed that has forced the blades of grass to move to the pavement.

Why can I find serenity among healthy habits?

Entry #65

Every day, at the same time and on the same road, I can’t help but come around this house I have come to know so well, hoping that someone from the inside will wave back at me. I can never stop in front of it, and to get out and go toward it would be pointless, yet this nasty little delusion has allowed me to overcome my anxiety. And I don’t care what any psychologist says, that is an acceptable trade.

Entry #68

I keep arguing and saying that succumbing to my own thoughts and memories cannot be more deranged than avoiding them by immersing myself in work.

A soft-female voice seems to disagree.

Entry #72

They told me that I had to stop looking for the house among the lights of the city. They told me it wasn’t a healthy habit.

But hey, sometimes you gotta do whatever helps you to sleep at night. Sometimes, it gets easier to pretend this is all just one great hallucination.

Entry #87

Why is it the world expects you to share your inner dialogues, yet become alarmed when they differ from their own?

They keep calling me a victim, they keep acknowledging my situation, they keep reassuring me everything will pass, yet they are quick to condemn my behavior. Maybe I can’t get past my pettiness, but even the ability to complain brings some level of comfort when faced with anguish.

I will continue to write of course, for as long as my thoughts remain my own.

Entry #99

Where am I?

I wrote this down somewhere between two or three months ago. For some reason I fail to understand, the concept of time is the first thing to vanish from your consciousness. Now, if I say I want to go back, my own mind struggles between reaching the past and escaping the future. I wish I could say that I am sorry, but I’ve learned that memories are the most unreliable source of information I possess.

Where am I?
I feel her — I feel the emptiness — more than you.

Entry #100

I’ve never been more free than this moment, when I am unburdened by all the secrets I always carried around. To think it only took one lifetime.

Am I leaving all of them with the sense of an ending?

Entry #121

I can’t stop thinking about all those imperceptible little things that I always seemed to miss.

Yet, at the same time, I can’t stop thinking about all those negligent inconveniences I always complained about.

They both seemed preposterous now.

Entry #137

I must not forget your face.
I must not forget your face.
I must not forget your face…

Entry #146

My daydreams now seem more vivid than those that come with rest. However, in those I have finally accepted there’s no way to go back to how things used to be. My nighttime dreams are kinder, and they still lie to me.

Entry #178

I am losing my will to write.
My family never considered me smart nor was I ever among those blessed with imagination. My colleagues are incapable of thinking better of me and my silent disputes. The voice I always hope to hear on the other side of the line has gone quiet.

So, what can an average, middle-aged man leave behind that is worth a damn?

Entry #182

Maybe tonight, I will go out and breathe for a while.

Entry #194

We are nothing.
How does life choose who gets poverty and who gets wealth?
How does love decides what souls belongs to each other?
How does death chooses the right time to pick a soul?
We are nothing.
I feel like I am fading away.
Maybe I have live too long.
Maybe no one is meant to tolerate an experience like this one.

Entry #202

I might regret this, but what would be the point of coming back to you, if the you I remember, the one that haunts my memories, is not the one I want to recover?

Entry #239

The calls keep comimg.

They do not hide their anxiety, which is born from the idea that I am lost to myself. I feel as if all of them are worried that I keep craving my old life, among blue skies and unending oceans.

They could not be more wrong, for I keep fighting the voices in my head that whisper that I must retain those thoughts that keep me tethered to the earth. I could lose myself yes, but —

If anything, my old life hardly seems to matter now. This life was the one I was born for — the one life I seem to find peace.

Entry #244

Another night dreaming of the past,
But spending the night with whatever takes my mind off it.

Entry #282

Today, I no longer remembered the color of your eyes.
Today, your face is starting to blend with the background.

Entry #297

I’ve begun to entertain the possibility of fading myself away.
If the world has functioned long enough without my happiness, my work, and my voice, why would I wanna live in it?

Entry #311

Finally, I began to understand that we are all alone. And no amount of love could ever travel the distance that exists between us.

We are this, love.
And I am terribly sorry for it.

Entry #325

I can barely remember the scent of your room.

There were clothes at the back of the walk-in-closet, some candy wrappers under the bed, a line of barely-used perfumes by the window sill, and a box of memories on the travel bags. Was there a dog plate by the door? Or am I confusing your life with mine?

Why is it that I remember the mess, but not the cleanliness of your embrace?

Entry #328

I will remain behind.
Maybe, I no longer want to go.

Entry #336

Dear God,

I wish I could still have the ability to sin.
I wish I could still have the willingness to pray.

Entry #339

Everything might fade.
Everything will fade.

Love, empathy, pain, fear, even resentment— they will all seem meaningless eventually. It has taken this journey to understand that the only two things that endure the void. The only two things that will never leave your side are the music that allows us to feel, and the words we never said.

Entry #348

I can no longer trust my thoughts. I am left alone with all the voices that seem to overcome my desires whenever I listen to the silence.

Entry #359

The one last thing that pains me, is that all that will be left of me are an array of senseless songs, and the thoughts of what they will call a mad man.

After one year of being stranded into space, they all thought that I was losing my will to live, but no one was able to understand that I needed to anchor myself to what lied far away — on Earth — to remember why I shouldn’t just drift away.

An astronaut who fell in love with the emptiness.
God, the stories they will tell…

Entry #365

What it would be, to dance among the stars and embrace the emptiness of both my own memories, and the imagination that no longer feeds them.

Entry #366

Time is currency.
And I have spent mine.
I have chosen to stay alone in space.

I’ve forgotten your face.

Entry # ???

Can you imagine it?
It’s easy if you try.

Should We Go Back? was originally published in Sex Songs and Gasoline on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.