Two months of rapidly passing overcast clouds, shadowed thoughts fly and the blur is welcome.
Introspection? In gallons, flowing into every landscape of the mind, and entering every re-lived and once believed conversations. The face of the man from city of the minar who showed me dreams... and snatched away my right to sleep... and never cared.... never tried ... never bothered to give it back to me...
Days and Nights of moaning sirens, sleepless and speechless nights....then the mornings where all I hear is the wind in the trees, somebody's loud conversation in the middle of nowhere and my mind where stories are waiting to be written.
Tonight just like all the previous nights sleep eludes me - I float from my book to computer to the balcony, watching the ocassional lights of early morning and listening to the hurried yet tired cars zip past.
The night hours stumble into one another as all nights have.... A routine that created itself and now heaves upon me every night. Outside it is nearly always the same; a dull night yawning under the shadows of the day that has past....
Tonight, the reminder that I can hope to leave the weakest links of my life behind me, but... At night, when all is invisible and is the most intimate, the pink curtains on my windows, turn in the darkness, and I can’t distinguish between the two most intimate sounds. One of heartbeat, and the other of the fan blades. In between, my breaths seem to float into oblivion. This sensitivity to everything that moves, but numbness to everything that is.
Being alone, sometimes brings out the darkest sides of me. Not that I fight them. But sometimes, just the fierceness of my own feelings, chokes me.
No comments:
Post a Comment