We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human

Jackpot

I feel alone.

"How are you alone? You have everything."

I guess that's why I feel alone. The everything you see is plastic and melting from the heat. I think the heat is coming from me and the plastic from my imagination. Is my brain making everything look plastic? Or are my eyes seeing that everyone's love is fake?

Do you really have people if there's no one there who thinks you're worth it?

But I don't know what this "worth" people speak of is equivalent to. Or what "it" is. Is it worth what? Worth love, attention, a listening ear, acceptance, patience, the world, the stars? Which stars am I "worth"? The ones that fall and burn out or the ones that God has given a name?

What am I equalizing my existence to? What is the material value of the breathes I take? How many miles will you walk to get to me? How many oceans or seas will you cross to reach me? Am I worth that? Any of it? All of it? If so, is it just one person who's going to cash out the earnings? Or will it be a series of people?

Please, don't tell me it's me. That I'm the lucky winner who gets to win the pleasure that is me. Because I can't afford it. Every expense I create is charged through Euros and all I have are Pesos. I guess I have the money to buy myself the love, the world and stars. But I have Pesos and all the price tags say they only take Euros.

How did that even happen? How am I holding a different key to my own lock?