RENÉ

by Micah Ella Ledesma Jaylo

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

The stench of existence running, dancing, swirling with, paradoxically, a gentle breeze clinging to my nostrils. Barging into my lungs, uninvited. Aiming to suffocate the entirety of this godforsaken body.

But instead of gasping for air that forces this will to move, I found myself buried under the comfort of my blanket in a debilitated bed. Beside stained pillows with regrets of the yesteryears. Eyes grew tired from looking at a plethora of words scribbled carelessly - overflowing fascination burning within each pursuance. Before life decided to force dread and numbness as prices, we pay for surviving.

Barely living in routine. Barely breathing as it seems. So, I wonder where the truth behind the words of Descartes is.

Because I think, but I am not.