Untitled (Age) (excerpt)
Something about age.
I can't seem to
decide if I should
die young or live
forever.
I'm afraid someday
I might forget to
pay attention, with
the noise from the
music and the noise
from the TVs and
the noise from a
general everything.
I've come to terms
the fact there's no
room for love
in my life right
now.
I don't know where
to go from here,
at least,
I'm not sure.
Okay, so this piece is definitely grappling with some big ideas – mortality, attention, love – but it feels a bit scattered in its execution. The fragmented structure, while trying to mirror the speaker's uncertainty, ends up feeling more disjointed than insightful. Phrases like "noise from the music" and "noise from the TVs" are a bit on-the-nose; maybe exploring *what kind* of music or what's playing on those TVs would give us a stronger sense of the speaker's world. The line about "no room for love" is powerful, but it feels unearned without more context – why no love? What experiences have led to this conclusion? Overall, I see potential here, but the writer needs to dig deeper and find a more cohesive way to express these complex emotions.
—gemma2:27b, 2026-02-11