Waiting patiently to be found in another sleepless night while searching for a refuge. A safe place where sanity does not seem so far away and where thoughts are less dark and twisted.
Words that used to be able to enhance the beauty all around. To bring lost souls back to life or to shatter one's dream. Words that were meant to change the course of a lifetime and that could even end one as easily as it started.
It was a time when all that one had were the letters. Symbols. Small, yet stark. The power of mastering them was vast, intense and accessible to everybody. Each and every one could have made their own world and lock themselves there or could have used this ability to create something even bigger and with a deeper meaning. Art. Used together, these symbols had the force to awake anyone's consciousness and the ways of doing so were numerous. Poetry, music, novels, even daily letters mailed by those who were devoured by unyielding pain or neverending love stories.
Today though... what is left? Where are those fierce defenders in all this darkness? What power do have have agains these walls of nothingness? Buried under all these layers of dirt and solitude? Looking for that ray of light, trying to pour everything on a blank canvas, to release myself from all the burdens. It's not easy though. And being so completely numb and hopeless is not helping either. How can I find the strength to say your name and not feel this void swallowing me? I am literally running out of air when I let myself even barely touching this ocean of grief.
I have resorted to being a shell. Trying to build myself back up step by step, trying to put layers of make up, to be the clown that everybody is asking for. Nothing comes normal, I have to force every breath. Struggling not to zone out during the day when I suddenly get a picture of your big arms embracing me in my head. I am once again surviving, giving up on what the ordinary people are considering life.
I can see the people around me are trying to help. I have rebuilt this support and I am aware that they all want the best for me. But no one really knows. No one has seen the whole picture. No one can feel the oozing ruptures which are never healing and are a constant reminder of the danger lurking.
And in the end, no matter how much it hurts, I know that they never will. Cause I will never be myself anywhere else except in front of a paper. Not after doing this in front of you. Not after I got so, so low. Cause I am already too scared that I have gotten myself too deep.
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