Thursday, 31 May 2012
Here comes the rain again
Sometimes in retrospection it's the small things we do that are echoic of our state of mind that are meaningless at the time, yet wholly representative of us.
When the depression has a tight grip on my hand and we walk side by side down morbid paths I like the curtains closed, I abhor open windows, my posture is broken and bent huddled in long layers, I forget to turn on lights. I suffocate in silence and the weight of the air. The small things that always matter yet I fail to notice at the time. I'm alone.
In the moments of clarity and as close to stable as I can get, I have an urge to open windows, to feel the air kiss my flesh, to get inebriated from a gluttony of inhaling it in frigid gasps as if to banish cobwebs from the soul. I stare at the sky as if finally believing my thoughts can touch it and touch upon others. I sit straighter, walk taller and have an intolerance to layers revelling in air on flesh. I turn on all the lights and let in the music again. I speak with my voice and not just in silences. I'm only lonely.
If only for today, I'm throwing open the windows for who knows when the rain will fall again.
it's always raining in my head....