I Yearn For An Apocalypse

Should a stranger ask me what it is I crave most in this life, I’d likely respond, “I yearn for the apocalypse.” It feels sinister. I do not wish harm upon my neighbor, and never will, yet I crave an apocalypse—a paradox I cannot wrap my head around. How can one crave the destruction of humanity while simultaneously praying for its safety?

The true goal of my ill-conceived yearning may not be the destruction of humanity. I have come to the realization that my exhaustion drives this thought. I yearn for nothing more than the opportunity to breathe. The opportunity to wake up and not mentally sift through all of the obligations awaiting me before a single foot has hit the floor.

Our days begin early and our nights end late. Eternally deprived of sleep and hoping that our next vacation will undo the damage, we perpetuate this cycle of exhaustion due to the asinine theory that we can revel in a moment of solitude before bed. Selling ourselves in the day, we’re left feeding on the crumbs of our nights in search of unrelinquished time. I’m now confident that freedom from these cycles is what I crave most.

Envision it. You awaken one morning, dazed and groggy as usual, and there’s nothing but the sounds of nature surrounding you. No traffic. No alarm clock. No notifications. The distant chirping of birds and the quiet susurration of leaves as a gentle breeze blows past your bedroom window gift you a realization. You owe nothing to no one. Your time is your own. And as your arms and legs quiver through that first long stretch, a smile reaches across your face. A comforting image, is it not?

Cruel as it may be, if prompted I’d say, “I yearn for the apocalypse.” Not for the destruction of mankind, but for the promise of a peaceful tomorrow.