its surreal, how at times it feels like you don't really exist.

you remember shadows of the past, what must have been reality at that time - things you touch, you breathe, you feel, as tangibly as the grainy details of the concrete you stare at when you are thinking of what to say in a deeply emotional, intense conversation with someone who mattered at the time. flashes of anger, of the world passing by as you sat with your face to the car window. thoughts you had as you showered, cold droplets falling on your face, as you started at the square white tiles, thinking about decisions in loops in your mind - even then - what could be, what would be, what could've been, what could've been. moments suspended in time, when the world went in slow motion, and you stared at the ground three storeys down, and wondered. the sight of your feet shifting, one in front of the other, as the big black cloud hung weighty on your shoulders; again as you climbed a mountain, feeling alright; again as you felt the dirt and pebbles shift under your feet on another mountain, feeling alone. moments when the world seemed to rush all around you, and your senses didn't work - when you couldn't see straight, couldn't hear, couldn't perceive - you only felt the rage of a dark devouring tornado that came from within, all around you. moments when out of nowhere, sitting at the backseat of a car and looking in front, suddenly the past, and future, and present all seemed to exist at the same time - when things are both the way they are and the opposite; when your parents are no longer around and still around; when you are both happy and sad - when all is as it is, all is as it ever is. everything is everything.
the moments bleed into one another. every moment becomes the same moment.

when everyone has passed by, and no one remembers your name anymore... do we still exist? there is no dent of my existence on society; none on the people i once called 'friends', or ex-lovers, none on the burned bridges of the ones called my family. like a ghost, passing through time.

The moment they came and put their hands all over it, filled up all the space with the things they had bought to equip it, it no longer felt like mine. None of the things felt like it belonged to my space - i was so happy with it, so proud of what little i'd put together, so happy to be there.. when they had come and left with their storm of goodwill, i was no longer happy with it. it no longer felt like mine. i watched the spaces and the things that filled them warily, like it had been inhabited by a stranger without my knowledge. whatever i had found and equipped together for myself came to be zero - nothing i had achieved, nothing i had built and owned, as in the name of love, those i was bound to  watermarked everything, owned everything, everything in my life.