Statistical, No Fear

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Relief, such a magnificent freedom. I sigh, contented for the night. You would say there are consequences for every action, but how could this count? I cannot possibly be burdened by your words, such euphoria have I reached. Your cold eyes stare at me, grim with defeat, but what can I say? I love you too, hun, see you soon. Just another blue-eyed suicide in their sight. You always wanted to know what nirvana felt like; well, now you do. Is it all you built it up to be?

Jauntily I rise, taking advantage of my damp hands to peel the hair away from my face and smooth it back. I’ll leave you, I suppose, with the thought of today—do you really understand yourself as well as you think you do? Such a prim expression lingers on your face, your prudent lips, and yet you know you’re just another statistic, as the emo kids would say. No one really knows what happened; I hope that satisfies you. You wanted to hide on the sidelines, didn’t you? It isn’t as though your silence is going to wash that away now. I’ll wile away my final hours in bliss, knowing you don’t care, but you will always have to remember what your own moments hold. No fear, no anxiety; just that slightly offended, somewhat annoyed mix of emotion. My dear, I would be proud if I were you.

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Heather M.