Friday, October 15, 2010
The wind thuds against my window, shaking my blinds and curtains. I suddenly imagine this almighty wind taking my body for a ride, whisking me away from here. Perhaps it could pick me up like a tornado, spin me around and throw me to a different land. A far away place. Where the heart knows no name. I tingle with the sensation of being a stranger where memories are made and not held onto for fear of a disappearance. I cry into the palm of my hand, grasping the pillow with the other. My eyelashes flutter with the shaking of tears, and when I open my mouth to scream nothing but a mild sob comes out. Perhaps we are all prisoners, in our own prisons but occasionally I want to rip my skin apart - and be a butterfly that will die with a handful of magical days. Is this I wonder what depression is? The stuttering of the morning light, turning into a plethora of black, darkened clouds. My lips are chapped, my body scorned with a fever. I cannot even remember why I made love to her, and yet the guilt is biting back all that happiness could perpetuate to realness. It is like I once heard. I always love the people I should hate, and the hate the people I should love.