Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[25]

"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?"

- -

Sloan

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

Nothing we do in our routine, in society, in how we follow rules and how we keep on doing things mechanically, because it just makes sense. People who think about the ceasing of their existence have essentially debunked the myth.

I admire Camus' writing. 

Each time I re-read his works, I am instilled with an endless sense of awe, inspiration and contemplation.

"Thought I'd find you here." his voice startles me.

"Hi." I smile. 

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

"Which is why I am dressed like an onion. Plus the sun is warmer than you might think. Sit." I pat the spot on the bench next to me.

Luke walks around and takes a seat next to me. His hands are deep in the pockets of his overcoat as he sprawls his legs in front of him. 

"Hm." he smiles slightly when the sun hits his face. 

I ask him what he's doing here, how he found me. He tells me that if I'm not at home, or at the bar, I'm here reading, and I tell him that this makes me sound boring. 

He laughs. He reveals he stopped by my house and my grandma let him know of my whereabouts. I didn't have my phone with me because it defeats the purpose of detachment, I explain.

He notices the book on my lap and picks it up.

"How many times have you read this?" he asks me.

"Two, this is the third one. It's not a book to binge on, is it?" I ponder and Luke nods as he reads the introductory note.

I let him soak up the words as I soak up the sun and whatever warmth it can provide me on such a cold day.

"I haven't seen you in a while." I note. 

It's been a while since he walked me home that night after the bar, when we all shared our favorite memory. 

"I was in need of a break." his eyes remain glued on the book as he talks.

"A break from what?" I breathe out, watching my breath in the air in front of me. 

Deep down I'm afraid he wanted a break from me, but I don't ask. 

"I don't know. Routine." he ends up saying. 

"You don't mean to tell me that getting drunk with a bunch of jerks every night, is not your ideal way to pass the time." I jest and he chuckles under his breath. 

"I'm sorry I disappeared. I felt like I was reaching the maximum of my abilities." he explains.  

"You know, Camus says that after that break, there's either the resume of life or suicide." I chortle. 

"You adore this man too much." he says.

"Why did you feel like that?" I divert.

He closes the book careful not to miss the page I was on.

I smile at that. 

"I don't know. It's been a weird year, I guess." he shrugs, setting the book on the bench, between us.