by Lena Lautner
Thinking too much can be dangerous... Especially when it's about you.
|Are we in the dark? Is it really the night that envelops us, or do we enter the night? |
Would you doubt the hands of time? I know I have, on more than one occasion.
What I have learned in the present that has followed, is that once you cuff the hands of time, they tend to recuperate in the only way they know how.
By lashing out and destroying all that you care for.
It seems a little harsh, right? Life often is.
Lying awake in the infinite cold, it seems my soul will never find warm refuge anywhere else.
Should I pray? Why, for all forsaken purposes, would that thought even enter my mind?
Our galaxy is filled with disgustingly stunning and breathtaking stars.... Yours shines brightest in my sky. So I close my eyes and whisper to myself.
Perhaps, if it is convincingly enough, I will open my eyes and you will be mine.
You're my only hope.
But how unfair can things get, when my only hope is vouching for someone else's safe voyage, while I am stranded in the shipwreck?
This time, I'm mistaken - for giving you a heart worth breaking.
This darkness is primitive, barbaric - a centuries-old tradition of isolating the victim. My God, I think, and for the time time in what seems like a decade, I am terrified.
Real terror grips my body, my eyes tearing up, my bones shaking, my lips numb with the listless words riding upon them. Like a broken stallion, I have reached a critical breaking point.
For what seems like the hundredth time recently, I realize there is no one to call. No one to talk to. Nothing to say.
And that feeling of total isolation, the feeling of being completely, utterly, purely, truly, sincerely, despicably, irrevocably, inconceivably alone... that feeling, more than any kind of fear, paralyzes and grips me in its stead.
I've always heard that said... every man for himself. But surely, I used to think naively, there are people who are more than that. Who will take you hand and assure you of the world's goodness, convince you and make you believe that the world, its all its corruption, misery, and death, had not yet reached this critical breaking point.
For all the good those lies did me, they have not stopped me from reaching this breaking point.
And at some point, something's got to give.