This Is Why They Hate Us

by Aaron H. Aceves

The weird thing is I can feel my desires so intensely sometimes that they feel like needs, but in the moments when I’m actually faced with the objects of my desire, panic originating from deep inside my bones sets in.

the silence that follows is more pronounced than the one a minute ago when the three of us were in the room not saying anything.

And I feel better. Because I feel nothing.

They say you need to love yourself before you can love someone else, but I feel like I need confirmation sometimes, that I’m someone to love.

I’ve read enough books, seen enough movies, listened to enough music to know that the human species is decidedly a lonely one. Sure, what sets us apart from animals is our superior social and communication skills, but we’re the only species that’s left alone with our thoughts.

I want to be anyone who isn’t myself.

live. Most of all, I’m envious of people who aren’t envious.

We’re not literary archetypes,

I feel like I’m no longer carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, but I’m at least carrying all of the oceans.