Úneme

Life is like a cloud.
It comes in a million shapes and sizes and it offers no guarantees, no certainties, no sympathies for the man who told his kid he'd fly a kite today, no consideration for the girl who was sure she'd see the sun today, no promises for the weary world and the wants wants wants of which it has too many today.
Life is like that.
Sometimes full and fluffy and floating along and sometimes dark and angry and sobbing sobbing sobbing anger and passion and vengeance and retaliation.
It's agony
It's anguish
It's a gift, a lesson a reminder
Because only once the storm has passed only once the tears have flooded the rivers and gorged the ground and washed away the dirt the debris the destruction and decay, only then
only then will the sun step outside
smile to the sky
and dare to shine.

Pick a dandelion and close your eyes
make a wish
blow it into the wind
watch it
change
the
world.

Sometimes I close my eyes and paint these walls a different color.
I imagine I'm wearing warm socks and sitting by a fire. I imagine someone's given me a book to read, a story to take me away from the torture of my own mind. I want to be someone else somewhere else with something else to fill my mind. I want to run, to feel the wind tug at my hair. I want to pretend that this is just a story within a story.

I can tell she's only halfway here, because her eyes are unfocused and her hands are moving mechanically. She does this a lot. It's like sometimes she just disappears, retreats into a corner of her brain and stays there awhile, thinking about something she'll never talk about.

These letters are all I have left.
26 friends to tell my stories to.
26 letters are all I need. I can stitch them together to create oceans and ecosystems. I can fit them together to form planets and solar systems. I can use letters to construct skycrapers and metropolitan cities populated by people, places, things, and ideas that are more real to me than these 4 walls.
I need nothing but letters to live. Without them I would no exist.
Because these words I write down are the only proof I have that I'm still alive.

Never in my life have I felt this. Nothing like this. I've felt shame and cowardice, weakness and strength. I've known terror and indifference, self-hate and general disgust. I've seen things that cannot be unseen.
And yet I've known nothing like this terrible, horrible, paralyzing feeling. I feel crippled. Desperate and out of control. And it keeps getting worse. Every day I feel sick. Empty and somehow aching.
Love is a heartless bastard.
I'm driving myself insane.

It's strange being in her head without being able to see her. I feel like she's here, right in front of me. I feel like I now know her so intimately, so privately. I'm safe in the company of her thoughts; I feel welcome, somehow.

I've wanted few things in this life.
I've asked for nothing from no one.
And now, all I'm asking for is another chance. An opportunity to see her again. But unless I can find a way, [...], these words will be all I'll ever have of her.
These paragraphs and sentences. These letters.

It's that terrible moment when you're sitting still so still so still because you don't want them to see you cry, you don't want to cry but your lips won't stop trembling and your eyes are filled to the brim with please and I beg you and please and I'm sorry and please and have mercy and maybe this time it'll be different but it's always the same. There's no one to run to for comfort. No one on your side.
Light a candle for me, I used to whisper to no one
Someone
Anyone
If you're out there
Please tell me you can feel this fire.

I've come to believe that the most dangerous man in the world is the one who feels no remorse. The one who never apologizes and therefore seeks no forgiveness. Because in the end it is our emotions that make us weak, not our actions.