What if I just wrote a tangent off of every question that makes me pause? Like how I talk to myself when I’m alone or how people who don’t really understand digital footprints use twitter? Would it be an okay piece? Would it be anything worth reading at all? None of the other pieces have taken me so long to even start- but the blank page staring back at me like a bright void has never felt so damn intimidating. Is it anxiety or general unfocus from whatever a doctor hasn’t diagnosed me with yet? Why am I wasting words like this- screw it. I’ll just do it I guess.

What if no one had a name? No titles, no pride of a family line- no honoring loved ones with weighted letters. Just loving existing; beings in a time of intertwined chaos and peace. Togetherness; nameless joys shared by experience. Is that what an afterlife is like? If one or many even exist? Or is even the prospect of living with no identity that is easily known by others enough to make anyone else spiral like I do? I guess I’ll never know.

What if my clients really knew my age? It’s not a grand age- a milestone, sure, but not one that gets a lot of respectful glances these days. Twenty-one! How astounding! I can finally buy the grossest overpriced consumable liquid in a store or order from a counter in a loud, dark bar. Would it even make a huge difference? Some might laugh at the fact that for the past year, all I’ve said was, “I’m in my twenties” and their assumption probably wasn’t being only weeks into my twenties. I feel like it would change their minds- the imposter’s mask I carry is very heavy. I don’t feel like a professional- let alone an adult. I feel like the part of me that stopped aging when covid hit and I turned sixteen alone. Like a child with a learner’s permit.

What if my life was better? What would be making it so much better anyway? The amount of money I make would only increase how much I like spending. I don’t know if I’d have the social battery to handle having a full group of friends again. Moving out sounds daunting; being alone all the time that I’m not working sounds a bit miserable paired with tiring social outings. Does “better” just mean happier? I wish I could talk to someone whose life did get better but didn’t necessarily start in the gutter. It’s not bad where I am, and it feels like I’m complaining about fortunate opportunities that I’ve had for wanting something better. I think more positive memories, connections and experiences would make it better, but none of that happens overnight like in the movies.

What if I never achieved anything? I know I’ve achieved a handful of things but it’s not anything that has led to an obvious milestone. Like buying a house, getting married, or owning a business. I had a great GPA, but I don’t use my degree in my work. I’ve never lived alone before but I sit aside at times and claim to be independent? How’d that get into my head? The way people perceive me as an adult who is capable of doing incredible things blows my mind. Do they just say nice things- add responsibilities to my plate- because they can see I don’t see myself as anything? Like they’re giving me a positive ego-boost to just keep swimming? I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere- done nothing that anyone would remember. Why does it even matter if I do? 

What if death held no consequences? That it wouldn’t force others to the rapids of grief to drown. To truly come and go in peace, like an insect or a flower? At that point, would death only be a form of escape? Leaving behind responsibilities like taxes or clocking in at work or remembering to call back that one friend that only feels like an acquaintance because life got busy before you could really connect? If I died, what would all change? My clients would have to find a new stylist. My friends and family would most likely grieve, but they wouldn’t really be able to grieve together. My friends know me as Tobi- my family knows the name they gave me. At the end of the line, I can only hear my own voice nagging at me and saying I’m being selfish for sometimes wishing death had no consequence for everyone around me.

What if I escaped, or more accurately could escape? Death is imminent and I wouldn’t want to be immortal anyway. Even as a mortal- would I be able to escape here? The world that has major, major issues. Where people in suits with fancy titles get to pit us against each other, drop death from drones, and dump chemicals into every source of water we have until everything is tainted. We were all born tainted- a man told me that at a church when I was a kid. I wanted to leave that thought behind, but I think we were born with the greed of our predecessors and those above us staining our mother’s blood. Led, lithium paint, microplastics, and now straight up toxic waste from AI supercomputers. I can’t escape it, not physically. I can’t leave earth, not without dying as my way out. So I’ll escape with my mind instead. Ball it up and throw it as far into my imagination as reality will let me. What if I lose my mind during that? Would anyone really notice? I doubt it, I’ve always been odd. Maybe I’ll stay behind until I find a way to take my favorite people with me. We can all escape and lose our minds together, like the true end to the world.

When I see you again,

I will turn away, to forget.

Ashamed I ever hoped to care for you when you didn’t care for me at all.

If I ever see you, I’ll ignore that I unwillingly remember everything that made me addicted.

From the tattoos on your arms to the smell of your clothes before they fell to the floor.

Your dreams, the names of your friends and family, your lofty goal of wanting to make a family.

I hate that I still remember textures of your skin on mine, the sound of your voice,

Your Bachelor’s major, and the way you had some semblance of chivalry

When you couldn’t be bothered to see me on the dates we planned.

When I see the pictures of myself back then, I see the pitiful shell I became so quickly.

How my smile bares no teeth, no crease by my eyes or light left inside.

How the pathetic state of myself radiates through the pixels.

I let everything fall out of my mouth like stomach acid, to satisfy your nonexistent curiosity.

Not like my own, how I consumed every single gram of knowledge I could ingrain from you. 

Of you. About you.

How I regret wanting to know you, to care

It only dragged my soul from my skull til I was nearly a walking corpse.

When I see my friends, the ones who stayed and didn’t comment their grief,

I’m nothing but grateful and in awe of their beauty that they ignore in favor of the physical.

Goddesses who bless those who are drowning with a helping hand.

Warm hugs, the kindest eyes, hopeful words, fulfilled promises of connection.

Beauty within being open in every way, 

not caring for fashion or how unserious our silly behavior can be.

They’re beautiful to me in every way, they see me while I see them.

Their curiosity over my existing mind matches mine, unyielding and non-judgmental.

Just basking in the endless universes of each other’s entities, engraved, intertwined.

I hope to whatever god exists that I never forget them, or their unparalleled beautiful souls.

So, when I ever see you again, I will pretend that you are no one and always have been.

That I don’t miss compromising on content and bargaining for companionship.

That I was better off alone at night than held by someone so careless with my vulnerability.

It has wounded me, being the one who knows and remembers.

That my curiosity for connection left me far more lonely than I had been before.

I will forget the anger and betrayal I felt.

After all, it wasn’t long enough for my friends to bother lying about liking you.

It was long enough for my senses to know you though.

If or when I see you again, I will do nothing, say nothing

Be the stranger you had refused to know when I exposed myself to you.

So please, when you see me,

If you even remember my face, that used to lay beside you,

Don’t speak, don’t do anything

Just forget and walk away again.

And when I see myself in the mirror today, I will accept that my bed is empty.

That my days are occupied with work and practice in self appreciation.

The occasional walk with a goddess, no more downplaying, no more pain.

I will see myself again, with a smile that’s all teeth and makes my eyes squint shut.

When I see myself in new pictures, I’ll be laughing with those who remember me.

Who see me, and where fond memories are mutual.

Who treat me like I am just as beautiful and worthy as they are.

When I see myself today, I will see myself whole again.

Not lost.

Not an empty shell.

Not forgotten.