As the wind blew in her face, her skin started to shiver again. The feeling of the air, penetrating her skin, through the tiny pores left her numb. She was cold on the outside, yet her blood was as warm as a summer sun. She laid there, on the shore, for an hour, without noticing the time passing by. The night was young, but she wasn’t. She was looking beyond the horizon, seeing her years passing by, empty and forlorn.
Just earlier in the morning, when she looked in the mirror, her eyes were not her own. There was something different about them. She felt she was looking at another person’s eyes… She has been living astray. She has been leading a double life. She lived in different skins. She could not recognize her own organs anymore. Even her voice did not sound the same.
She tried to go through the day, not talking to anyone, not seeing anyone. She wanted to be with her mind, for once. After leaving the pieces of herself shatter, she had to be one again.
She drove all the way to a place she felt at ease in. To her uttermost surprise, she couldn’t make it for even one hour. She could not be with herself. She could not listen to her ideas. Her emotions invaded her. They stood in between her mind and her ears, blocking her thoughts from being heard, coloring their paths to mislead them. She spaced so much from herself and from her reality to the point that she lost herself, amidst all the personalities she had created from her essence.
It was dark, that night. The moon was not full, yet it was shining splendidly. She thought, if the moon does not have to be full to be beautiful, why everything else should? She was talking to herself again … “things don’t have to be full to shine; they don’t have to be complete to be beautiful”. Silence. Then all of a sudden, another thought… “Why the strive to be complete? Why the strive to be perfect?”. Silence. “What is this urge to fill in empty gaps? This urge to understand it all? This eagerness to go beyond the present, to travel into the future and come back handful of answers? What is this urge to daydream about possible scenarios for an event that has not taken place yet? What is this urge to over-analyze the simple things – making small matter immense? What is this urge to complicate the simple and to overrate the normal? Is this all part of being a human? Are all those attributes of the magnificent human mind?”. A longer silence.
She could not tolerate these thoughts anymore.
She gave up.
She is damaged goods.
Five poems from forthcoming book - Great thanks to Reuben Wooley for posting five poems from my forthcoming book at The Curly Mind. The poems are linked below & always you Emma today rowing...
3 weeks ago