You Again

by Doge Kamki

Image credit: Damir Samatkulov on Unsplash

I don’t know if it is life echoing through depression,

Or depression echoing through life.

It feels like the second hand of a wall clock—

Always there, always moving, unnoticed

Until suddenly it’s all you can hear.

One moment I’m smiling.

In the next, my leg shakes, the frown drops heavy.

Anxiety shows up like an old friend, tapping my shoulder,

Saying, “It’s been a minute.”

We share whisky.

I live for the moments where the clock quiets,

When something soft replaces the noise.

Maybe that’s escape.

Maybe that’s survival.

I don’t know. I just breathe there.

Anxiety is that hyperactive friend

Whose energy I used to match without thinking.

A wild night, a loud club, a guaranteed story.

But I’m older now. I can’t keep up.

The next day destroys me.

I could do without it—

But we’ve been through too much to cut ties.

Exhaustion is different.

She’s an ex I keep returning to.

After the whisky empties me out

And impulse takes the wheel again,

I drive back to her door on muscle memory.

She doesn’t even ask who it is.

She just opens the door a crack:

“You again,” she sighs.

And lets me in.

We break up every morning.

We get back together every night.

A cycle predictable as the tide.

And somewhere in the distance,

Despair watches from a window—quiet,

Like a neighbor who has seen everything,

Lifting a small hand to wave.

***

Doge Kamki

Doge Kamki is a writer working across poetry, prose, and hybrid forms. His work has appeared in Metapsychosis Journal and Poetry Potion, with earlier work featured in online anthologies. He lives in Arunachal Pradesh, India.