monsieurshiu

A Sonnet
By Brad Leithauser (1953 – )

Why
do
you
sigh,
roar,
fall,
all
for
some
hum-
drum
come
—mm?
Hm…

After that, I took a shower and a look back through my little life. It vaguely occurred to me that back then, when I was fourteen, who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I ended up to be.
The reason I am writing this in a second language is that the things coming along are what I have been trying to get rid of, well, at least to bury them deeper. Just like drinking, smoking and masturbating, things you thought might somehow help you with the depression at that moment was vain and would eventually come back to you and bite you in the ass.
Once upon a time as a callow youth, I was popular in the class, having so many friends and great times. I tied my shoelaces with the girl across the aisle and rush to the kiosk while falling. The girl had a crush on the boy sitting beside me, and so did I. The boy dated a plump more-attractive-in-a-feminine-way girl later in the story. He was the cutest boy in our narrow world; everyone including the teachers favored him. My girl, once I thought was and would be the BFF in my upcoming life wasn’t so cool, she was jealous of the plump girl, and so did I.
The plump girl became a whole different person having a life that I couldn’t even imagine after graduation. The boy who wasn’t that good at study went to some technical school. I enrolled in high school finding myself not that popular as I used to be.
I started to reading novels at the classes and watching movies after classes. I was like a ghoul. I put on my indifferent mask by the day and conceived my tears between the water when it’s raining.
I never had any crush on anybody ever more. I don’t know why but I was just like this field drying up irretrievably. Years later I was finding myself not able to love another human being. I was confused yet not that surprised since I didn’t having so much hope for LOVE at the first time.
People who haven’t had any relationship in such a long time like us are tending to be weird. We become uncomfortable around other people. We like to amplify those inconsiderable details and our trivial feelings. Pathetic urbanites, submerged in the busy crowd for too long, eager to breathe fresh air on the surface of the ocean, eager to be put in the map, eager to be gazed affectionately, eager to be touched… to be loved. We imagine the love scene in our head to dispute the loneliness, and weep our tears when awakened from our midnight dreams.
They say 90% of the greatest poems were written post-coitum, that’s the moment you falling from divinity to humanity, the moment you realize everyone comes with their own misery and there is actually no solution to that. It’s the moment that unprecedented emptiness fall down to you and you have to admit you are going to spend the rest of your life, alone.