"Good times never last"
This phrase...
I've always wondered what it really meant, what the meaning of this could be.
Not out of bitterness, but confusion.
Because for a long time, I didn't know what good ever really felt like.
I'd like to explain myself by offering a question:
"How would you describe your life?"
For me, at first, life was like a bad fever, one of those long and relentless ones.
You always endured it, hoping it would pass as soon as possible.
The kind of fever that makes days blur, dreams dissolve into thoughts, and voices feel a hundred miles away.
The kind of fever that leaves you aching in body and mind.
Or maybe that's just life.
I mean, maybe life is constant pain, always adding beatings to the suffer, as if everything is not bad enough.
Nonetheless, the beatings, the aching, the feeling of melting, the heaviness, the slow-motion burn —
That was only the surface.
The real torment came not from the pain, but from the silence between it.
From the sense that you were inside the story yet slipping away from its stage.
Present, but not there.
You were drifting through your own life.
Like a half-written character in someone else's script.
Watching.
Fading.
And that —
that disconnection —
It was the worst part of it all.
Loneliness.
The one that punishes you for no good reason.
You try everything not to drown in it, but just like quicksand, the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.
You start feeling it.
How the streets grow colder, the lights become dimmer, and how every step feels heavier than the last.
You convince yourself that everything is temporary, you start walking with purpose, deluding yourself that you possess a reason, and for such, you belong.
That you fit in with others, painting yourself with their colour…
Their joy;
Their ease;
Their view of things.
Yet - deep down - you know how lost you are.
You feel trapped.
And so, you start poisoning your mind.
Old wounds echo louder in silence, haunting you as if you owe them something.
You replay conversations, mistakes you realised late that you wish you had not made.
Things you said, things you never dared even to whisper—at least until you found the courage you needed within the quiet of the four walls surrounding you.
There's no warning, no collapse, no scream.
Just the slow erosion of self, and you see it,
You see yourself fading every time your gaze rests on the unrecognisable reflection in the mirror.
Rage
Suddenly, every voice you hear twists into something cruel.
A beguiling chorus of derision and disdain- perhaps they always were.
You feel yourself burning, the ashes of the person you thought you were, cascading slowly in scorching erasure, screaming words that you, by now, can't quite catch.
Now you feel it
The shift… The change;
It's too late, you are unreachable, untouchable. –
Or so you want yourself to believe.
Because believing you've evolved above the wreckage you were
Hurts less than admitting you're still part of it.
You clench your jaw,
You harden your heart to stone
Not because you're strong —
But because if you open your heart to someone who cares, or your mouth to someone who listens,
You might start begging, crying and sobbing for help.
And rage doesn't beg.
It burns.
It consumes.
It grows and then...
It evolves.
Indifference
It pretends it never cared in the first place.
A dissonance between the outer stillness and the inner chaos.
People notice you changed once again, yet they don't even wonder why,
but you know.
This time, the change is not for anyone but yourself.
But that doesn't mean it's clean.
Unfeeling and selfish, that's how they describe you now,
Cold and even more lost, that's how you name and feel yourself;
But something shifted now:
You don't care.
Now you feel a certain weightlessness.
Still, this is an illusion.
A fragile peace bought with an external solution.
Pills—
a simple solution to your most complex problem.
Yet every time you consume one, you feel like you are being torn to pieces.
You want to stop, yet you fear going back, and you're even more terrified of what'll come after..
"Maybe it'll get better."
At this point, lying to yourself became almost natural because of the times you've rehearsed it;
Yet deep down you know, it won't.
Soon you finished the whole package, maybe too fast, but again: you don't care.
The light in your eyes getting darker by the day, just like the colours you perceive around yourself, but you don't care.
Now you are at peace, the voices tormenting you getting further, fading into silence.
Yet you never smiled.
You start wondering what happiness feels like, but you don't have the answer.
Your mind starts feeling like a pulled string.
Its extremities pushed and stretched further away from each other, just like your sanity slipping ever more away.
Now you feel like you've fallen too deep, and you are too lost.
Or so you thought.
Love
This changed everything at its core.
This time it was not just an apparent truth but a distinctive and concrete one.
A seismic shift that quaked the very core of your broken system
How you found the strength to pursue it would baffle even the most intelligent of people.
You were a mess.
Unstable.
Fractured in ways even you couldn't describe.
And yet —
You moved toward it like Icarus to the sun.
Not because you believed you were worthy of it,
But because something in you refused to let it pass by unnoticed.
You wanted to feel it; you tried to drown in something different-
Different from the fire that had been burning you alive or the never-ending apathy of your being.
You didn't care if it saved you or destroyed you.
You just needed it to be real.
For once, you didn't flinch.
You opened your chest
And let it all in.
The warmth.
The fear.
The terrifying possibility that everything could be lost.
But in that moment, you did not care.
You were just trying to exist
In something that didn't feel like pain.
For the first time in a long time,
You felt seen.
Not understood completely — not yet, at least—
But noticed in all your imperfections.
You were no longer a mere shadow in the room.
No more were you an addition to the colours of others.
And in that noticing, something softened.
You didn't stop being broken.
But you stopped being invisible.
And that, somehow,
was enough to begin again.
The world around you was still dim, but her presence was enough to outshine everything and everyone.
This time, you lost yourself to passion.
You felt yourself burn every time your gaze rested on her visage.
Her voice- enough to dispel any other.
Her presence- a beacon
A lighthouse calling your weary soul to rest.
With her, the noise stopped.
The screaming quieted.
Not erased — but softened,
like hands gently cupping your trembling face,
like eyes that asked nothing of you but to stay.
We walked through the paths,
Just me, her and the road ahead.
Hand in Hand,
I felt invincible.
"So this is how good times feel.."