Covered in these woolen blankets, I still feel this bitter cold pierce through my skin that feels so unlike my own, so awfully sovereign. Craving for warmth, a thought too liberating, I feel ridiculously jaded, almost too empty to exist.
My eyes they feel so dry, deprived of sleep I lie awake listening to the time tick away. Somehow, my heart beat isn’t as rhythmic as its supposed to be. The intervals in between seem to be haphazardly long. Each second seems to be widening, a bit more suffocating, more demanding then the one before.
There is a prolonged eternity that I feel weighing down on my shoulders, crushing me, hurting every single part of my already depleting body, a prolonged eternity masked in the sweetness of lies, in the “it will all be okays” overflowing with deceit, a filthy hopefulness ;a prolonged eternity that means to wait until this darkness swallows you whole, until the blood coursing through your veins runs dry, until you experience the ruthlessness of your own emotions that constantly plot to break you down, to make you taste the exact same destruction that haunts you in each hesitant step that you take, that drowns you a little more in each sharp intake of this betraying silence that surrounds you.
Wallowing in the depths of this controlling despair, I have never dreaded my own words like this ever before.
I want to close my eyes, I want for this agony to end, I want to close my eyes to know that this was only a implacable illusion, to know that this moment is anything but real; but it is harshly present, recreating itself again and again, this vision forces itself on me and my resistance just feels oddly irrelevant.
I shudder at the thought of all the pain that exists buried deep in these despondent hearts, of how many tears that fall silently into this looming sableness, of how many souls fall to the ground utterly defeated, heavy from grief, an unsettling helplessness.
I shudder because there is so much suffering yet unfortunately our suffering often turns into a pleasurable entertainment for many, something to be talked about, laughed over unless they find the next more miserable person to move onto, to humiliate his vulnerability in a manner more shamefully insulting then the one before.
Is this how truly sincere we are to the cause of others?
We think just because we have known someone our entire lives, we understand them, the way they think, how they behave but somehow, we are so badly mistaken. We believe just because we are close to them we’re supposed to know their every thought, every single thing that disturbs them.
But somehow we are the ones most oblivious to what goes on in their head just because we assume, and interpret before actually observing. And assumptions are really how close any person can come to the essence of another being. That’s the closest we can ever come to attaining a perfect awareness of the complexities of someone else’s life.
No matter how much effort we put into reasoning with someone else’s existence, we can never really understand them like they want to be understood but we can always try to be there for them without attempting to derive meaning out of their inabilities, their shortcomings. We can always be that wall that is present just for them to lean upon, that doesn’t question, nor does it blame; its just always there supporting, sustaining.
But then what do you when everything around you screams of uncertainty?
Just when you think you have everything under control, life immerses you head first into another more harrowing problem, and then you are back to struggling again but how long can you struggle in the face of something as poignantly tormenting as death?
I shiver because there is too much to take in, because I am diving into baseless conclusions. I shiver because I know I might close my eyes only to never open them again, for this heart that is throbbing, so alive with pain to lie dormant, rigidly still on these blanched tiles, for this stone like white to be branded a miserable red.