The Metaphysicist (Kill Your Darlings) | Featured

spare me, john green

Listen to Wait by M83 or any other sad song while reading if you dare

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It's been a week, yet nothing has changed in my grieving, except for the fact that it's been prolonged and has offered me many more opportunities to walk into the apartment with the thought that Lucien would be here waiting for me but isn't, not one time, because he's dead, and that's the permanent state he was in love with more than he was in love with me, and though every stupid self help manual will tell me that I need to move past a man who never invested his whole time in me because he liked other things above me, I simply cannot move on, because even if Lucien was not wholly invested in me, I was wholly invested in him, and he just fucking left, so now I'm hopeless and latching on to whatever I can latch on to, or else I'll slip away into the harsh reality that Lucien has been gone and isn't ever coming back.

Funerals are somewhat beneficial to people like me, people who can't bear to let go, people who still think that their loved ones will be in all of the places they used to be, people who need something of a reminder to place the dead in their grave eternally, and as much as Lucien and I detest funerals, Edie and Jack offered to pay for it with however much money they earn at work (I at least know that it's rude to inquire about people's monetary statuses, if I don't know any other points of social etiquette), and I don't want to turn down their proposal just because I'm a poor sport who denies other people the right to mourn the person they didn't know half as well as I did, and I didn't even know him that well, either, so it seems absurd that they should pretend to be so distraught by Lucien's death that they would dampen the ground with their tears as if there were a rainstorm the night before. However, I cannot stop people from hosting a funeral, especially when they're the ones paying for it, and if I told them of my concerns, they wouldn't give a shit and would label me as a socially inept heretic who should not be trusted with these weighted topics when I know more about them than they do, being a proud metaphysicist, so I keep silent and allow Edie to endlessly fix the position of my tie, an itchy thing resting upon my neck that makes me feel as though I'm suffocating, makes me feel like Lucien on that one day when I stumbled in on him trying to fucking hang himself, and I really don't want to be connected to one of Lucien's low points when we're honoring his absolute lowest, but I know I can't say anything about this too and might as well just gag myself with this tie.

Edie had been working for the entire week on preparing Lucien's funeral, and I admire her perpetual diligence, but there's no denying that I wish she hadn't worked so hard on something I could do without, because funerals are just lost time spent trying to forget someone that, like every regular human, pleaded to be remembered in history or in at least their best friend's minds like they'd always be there for them, because that's something of a consolation to someone who cannot feel now that they are six feet under, where the only thing they could potentially feel is the icy fingers of the dirt surrounding them, taunting the corpse and threatening to break through as bits of themselves do so, That's Lucien's fate, and while he wanted to be remembered in history, he abhorred funerals with every piece of him, every piece that people would admire after his death but scorned while he was still alive, demonstrating the sweet irony of humans and how they wish to act as though they ever gave a fuck so as to avoid the label of "cruel" or "cavalier" or "you should go and die, too". I don't want to go to this funeral, this session of that same doctrine that Lucien left untouched for hatred of it, and I want to abide by what Lucien would've done if he could schedule his own funeral, or lack thereof, considering he hates these public displays of fallacy that the world has not yet shamed for their faults, but Edie does not understand the hypocrisies and the falsifications of this odd planet, and she is forcing me to partake in a sort of latent torture about which she has no idea and would reprimand me for believing in.