Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[25]

"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee? - The prodigal son returns."

- -

Sloan

In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus talks about how people who choose to end their lives have figured out the secret: nothing really matters.

Nothing we do—our routines, our compliance with societal rules, the way we move through life mechanically just because it makes sense—actually holds weight. Those who contemplate the end of their existence have essentially debunked the myth.

I admire Camus' writing.

Every time I revisit his works, I'm filled with an endless sense of awe, inspiration, and contemplation.

"Thought I'd find you here."

His voice startles me, cutting through my thoughts like a stone dropped into still water.

I look up, squinting against the sunlight. "Hi."

Luke stands there, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his overcoat, his breath curling in the cold air.

"Are you aware that it's like, 50 degrees out here right now?" he asks.

"Which is why I'm dressed like an onion." I gesture to the layers upon layers I'm wearing. "Plus, the sun is warmer than you think. Sit." I pat the spot on the bench next to me.

He hesitates for half a second before walking around and dropping onto the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him.

The moment the sunlight hits his face, his lips twitch into something close to a smile. "Hm."

I ask him what he's doing here, how he found me.

He smirks slightly. "If you're not at home or at the bar, you're usually here reading."

"That makes me sound incredibly boring."

He chuckles. "I stopped by your house. Your grandma let me know where to find you."

I huff out a small laugh. "I didn't bring my phone. Defeats the purpose of detachment."

Luke notices the book on my lap and picks it up, thumbing through the pages.

"How many times have you read this?"

"Twice. This is the third." I lean back against the bench. "It's not a book to binge on, is it?"

He nods, flipping to the introductory note.

The air between us settles into something quieter. I let him absorb the words while I absorb the sunlight.

"I haven't seen you in a while." my voice is softer than I intend.

It's been a couple of weeks since that night he walked me home, when we all shared our favorite memories. Since he left me standing on my porch, confused and cold.

"I needed a break." his eyes remain on the book as he speaks.

"A break from what?" my breath is visible in the air between us.

I don't ask the question I really want to. A break from me?

"I don't know. Routine." he exhales slowly.

I tilt my head, watching him. "You don't mean to tell me that getting drunk with a bunch of jerks every night isn't your ideal way to pass the time."

He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry I disappeared," he admits, finally looking up at me. "I just... felt like I was reaching the maximum of my abilities."