Tuesday, July 31, 2012

4:30 PM

This numbness is new. So much has happened since the last time I came back here, in so many aspects of my tiny insignificant little life. I don't know what I am supposed to feel anymore, and sometimes I wonder if this is what growing up is supposed to be like? I hope not, because these growing pains are rather more unbearable than growing stretch marks on your knees. When you're old you're somehow forced to look as if you have everything under your control, and that you're every bit as whole as the next person; when deep down inside is just a tangled mess of emotions, of silent screaming and tears which are tired of falling, and of demons waiting to embrace you when you're finally all alone.

I do not dare to sleep at night. I do not dare be left alone with my thoughts, which now haunt me with a vengeance so strong it scares me. I never wanted to feel or be this way, I was just made so. Yet somehow I am suffering all the consequences of it.

Everything's really nothing more than a blur right now. Life just flashing by; people saying things at me, telling me things. I nod and I listen and I feel that momentary surge of manic happiness, which speaks of hope. I know this is right. I know that, but somehow it all feels wrong.

But I am trying to be brave. It will pass, as it always had. Because in the end, who really gives a damn?

and so it is

4:13 PM

In a Dream he is Still Busy
- Muara Dooley

Finding him, in an unfamiliar room,
she sees he is with someone,
is asked to wait and waiting falls
on her like rain, a fine mist, a softness
she finds words for, haar, smirr,
silly poetry words—till it falls harder,
faster, relentless now, streaming over
her chilled face till she can no longer see him,
he is blurred, rubbed away,
and none of those soft damp words will do
for the drowned, scoured, washed-out
loneliness of waking.