Wednesday, July 20, 2011

20072011

Don't let me sink.

The sounds of the trains feel so distant and the air reeks of the color gray. A continuous thumping proceeds constantly further into your head and the iron drill of a headache is splitting your thought apart. The flickering shards of thoughts flying inside your mind are like flies trapped between two windows - desperate to get out but will have to face the inevitable. The bench under you feels like it's been there since the world was born, maybe even longer. And the time you've been sitting there (an hour?) feels like a pause in time, a vortex of nothing.

The station has been abandoned hours ago and there have never really been people for you. You've been alone for the whole time, except for the voice in your head telling you how huge of a failure you are. How alone in this world you are. How much you could have done with your life.

It's been two months since you lost your job. The longest two months of your pathetic life, which apparently bore no meaning to anyone seeing as how they have all deserted you in this god-forsaken land. The station lights are living a world of their own by turning on and off in a rhythm of no coherent logic. It annoys you. Really, everything has been annoying as long as you remember, which in fact is not more than four hours before this hour. How long has this hour lasted anyway?

The paper bag between your feet carries a heavy burden. A light bottle of crystal-clear elixir, which has been your only hope, your only friend for the last two weeks. The love-hate relationship between you and the bottle has turned into a hopeless marriage of two lovers who despise each other, throwing daggers into the throat of the other. Both are bleeding but only one of them is immortal. You tried, you failed. Or did you even try? Wasn't it just easier not to try, just to give up?

You've been castrated mentally, numbed emotionally and amputated physically, or is it just your imagination? You're not looking into the ground anymore, your eyes have lifted and someone is standing before you, waiting. You think of telling the person to get lost, using multiple swear words that you can manage out as a mumble of vowels. The person holds out his hand.

You reach for it.


Don't let people sink. Help at least one person each day. I've done it for years and it never seizes to amaze me how good it still makes me feel.

.and it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time.

No comments:

Post a Comment