I woke up bearing the weight of a world unlike before. A world of floating memories, like dandelions in the air, waiting to be walked into and remembered. A world that seemed cold in color and touch. A world that felt lonely and hollow. It felt quiet, but all too loud; far, but all too close; empty, but all too heavy ...And still.
The First Day: I remember the morning after it happened. The house was quiet, an empty kind of quiet. Like it used to be weekday mornings at my parents' because they were at work. It felt good. I felt good. It felt familiar, but only for that fraction of an instant of a splintered shard of that milisecond. All before I remembered I wasn't a child, and this wasn't my parnets' house, and it was wrong for it to be so quiet, and it was wrong to feel good... because you weren't there. No one was.
Week 23 and 3 days: It's been a while since then. I'm surviving alright, but I can't figure out how to feel better. I mean, I've come a long way, but I just feel so angry frustrated at every little thing. At all the people I used to love. In fact I wonder if I ever loved them. It's been so long now since I've seen them, I'm starting to forget most things about them. All I remember are the bad times, as if the despair of tomorrow is poisioning the past. But we both know, whoever you even are, that alone isn't the reason. I've just gotten bad at forgiving; at starting over. So not only am I forgetting how to spark any new, different, feelings, but now even my old feelings are being replaced. I'm being robbed of a future and a past.
Created: Mar 01, 2014stpascoe0 Document Media