I Don’t Know What’s Happening, and Crashing Waves

By Max von SchillingReem Al Sharif


Sometimes, things don’t go to plan. Sometimes things aren’t your best work. Honestly, this one isn’t mine. But that’s okay, because I survived this week. And sometimes, that’s just that. 


Ironically, this blog was meant to be a space that I decided on after (what I thought) would be the worst of it, for a while. And yet, here we are. This week has been a train wreck, I’ve got a million things due, and somehow they’re all still the same things due at the end of the week, and I’m not entirely sure how that happened. My health is, well, as it usually is – uncooperative. But I digress, maybe it’s in the little things. 


This piece, to be blatantly honest, was a blazing mess when I started. Mostly anger, and a total rambling mess. And it probably still is, but at least I found a point in the chaos. Have you ever done that? Just did something and found a solution along the way and just acted like it was the intention the whole time? That’s what I do when I write. Come to think of it, actually, with everything it seems.


Maybe it’s in the little things. Cliche, right? When everything seems down, find joy in how good your coffee is, right? Well, easier said than done. I’ve had a gloomy week, for a number of reasons and I’m still at the phase where none of it has hit me yet. Or maybe it has a little. It’s only just come crashing down, and it’s all thanks to One Day on Netflix (for your information, don’t watch it unless you’re ready to have your heart demolished, because one montage of kisses brought up a full week’s worth of heartbreak). 


It’s in the little things right? Does that include sadness? Can that be in the little things too? In the hoodie I’m wearing, to the habit of putting lemon in my Cola out of habit… What do you do when the sadness creeps up from those little cracks. Because honestly I don’t know what to do this time around. I’m supposed to heal, and to do that I write. But right now, I don’t feel like I’ve got anything. So here’s a poem, maybe that’ll make things lighter, and maybe it’ll give you a break from the everyday things, too. 


The ocean, and its treacherous tides  

And yet we talk of its serenity at dawn. 

The dichotomy is lost 

in object permanence. 

We get older, 

And yet somehow 

We forget 

What makes us, 


Just like the tides, 

We grip for the shore

An anchor to ground us

In its own crumbling comfort. 


We all slip through, and 

It’s a paradox. 

Crumbling sand, and treacherous waves, 

Getting by and 

Slipping through. 

Your ephemeralness is perfection. 

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