The ceiling spins. The walls pulse. Its smells like freshly cut grass and must. Tears fall melodically down my cheekbones and pool on the blue rug, the same one my hands are clutching. My knuckles feel white.
My chest might explode, I cant handle this. I change my mind, but its too late. I hate this. All my breath is caught in my throat, imprisoned. Tortured. Im heavy. My limbs immovable. Cemented. I dont deserve to stand. It hurts.
A bluish burn dances on my skin. Everywhere. Searing. Mocking.
I feel nothing. And too much. Im scared. Im sorry. Im selfish. Im here now. No matter what.
We could have been great. We could have been everything. But you'll never know.
I turn my head and see the clock on the wall saying its barely started. I turn my head again, this time, landing my cheek in one of the warm pools of graying tears. My gaze falls on the blue knob of the dresser and stays there as I wait for this to end. For the pain, this feeling to go away.
Its been three years today. Im still waiting.
I love your style of writing.
ReplyDeleteI hope you find strength in pain.
I lay on the floor next to the lanai of my honolulu apartment, the door flung open, rain trickling onto the plush white carpet. "I took me five years to get over it" my roommate tells me. Why would she say such a thing? It's only been five minutes! Twenty-five thousand seven hundred twenty-one hours have passed since the first five minutes, and I've felt every one of them.
ReplyDeleteSome may say to move on, block it out, get over it. Many, wanting after comfort, would heed such well meaning advice. Yet I seek not comfort, but feeling, inspiration, and growth.
Growth is cultivated in discomfort. The only purpose is found in feeling, raw and unadulterated feeling. In hell there is no feeling, all have become comfortably numb. Sometimes the pain subsides, but not because I do not feel it, but because I accept it. I embrace growth, and ascension to enhanced feeling.
I am inspired by a greater capacity for love. For to love again, in greater depth and passion gives noble purpose to such suffering. Such virtues can not be taken home to be placed upon the mantle, observed from a short distance. They exist on their own terms, in the fields of passion, piety, and truth; and to make your home amongst them you must embrace all feeling.
oh ace... you aren't alone. ever..
ReplyDelete