Member-only story
You are alone. There is trauma between your teeth, your mouth is full of blood, your head is full of ghosts and your empty hands are stuffed in pockets full of grief. Your indifference to this gnarly Universe of jagged edges and endless tragedies — has hit its peak. Overwhelmed by the outpouring of pity and exhausted from over thinking, this is the loneliest place to be. Wayward emotions submerge you in your own ocean, a castaway with heavy limbs resigned to isolation — drowning as you breathe. Every ray of sun hits your skin differently now. Your mind creates compositions from broken pieces of memory, so out of reach — but vivid somehow. Monochromatic silent film clips of the way things used to be, colliding into each other like poorly organised slides, disturbing all attempts at dwelling in peace or possibility.
You walk on. Wandering the Earth — unsure of the ground beneath your feet or the stars above your head. You’re imploding with rage that sets off tiny riots inside your veins. A hurricane has taken refuge inside your chest, your lungs are full of debris and smoke. With every word you speak, you almost choke from the lump — that’s made a home — in the back of your throat. Nobody knows this — but you. When blessed enough to be in the midst of good company, you just want to say something, you just long to feel anything that isn’t your grief.
