Does every nightmare start as a dream; does it always start in gentle enthusiasm then escalate into something uncomforting. Cold and prickling with pain, harsh and aching. Searingly surreal, and undoubtedly terrifying.

 

Everything that’s up, must come down. Do they bounce? Is it a constant balancing act of heights and depths – like a rollercoaster that someone created using only the movements of copy and paste.

 

If naturally occurring patterns are common, and algorithms are predictive – what would be the binary of life? The Morse code to understanding why things happen the way they do, the timing they choose to make their mark and the harshness they choose to push upon their impressions.

 

If these are words written out of apathy and oozing dizziness, out of numb addiction to seeing a word…if is a silly word. You shouldn’t start a statement with if.

 

My eyes are blurry because I left my glasses somewhere I don’t want to return to. I’d give up one of my senses just to ensure I don’t have to feel what I felt. I’m not sure if there’s any point to me writing down sentences which only make sense to me, then publishing it for all to see. It’s like to a stand up show using only inside jokes, and I’m the only one giggling at the ‘punchlines’.

 

I want to kindly allow you to tell me when to stop, but again, another numb and meaningless statement in the forum of a one sided conversation. I’m doing this again to pass time, not to open up any wounds and see what falls out. Just to sit with me and keep me company whilst the second hand ticks and the minute hand slowly but surely glides.

 

What happened to me is now happening to my sister, its same same but different. Sort of like how we are same same but different. I wish I could find out why this always happens, why it always begins with me and ripples to her. At the moment I like the idea we have the same star chart – if there was ever a close idea of an algorithmic pattern to life it would be astrology.

 

Oddly enough at the moment I don’t like thinking about the future, I don’t like thinking about the day ahead, nor 10 minutes. I can’t create plans in my mind. It’s like everyone else is currently situated at a road with a series of forks, a maze or labyrinth as such. And I’m staring at the enclosed corner of a room – but it doesn’t worry me. I like looking at the pattern of the wall, the flaws in the indents and the sweeping of dust. I’m perfectly content right now looking at the smallest possible things, I couldn’t imagine consider planning a step. There’s too much around me right now to move, it’s almost like the opposite of claustrophobia. I’m perfectly content in my current tomb. It’s interesting and safe. No cold breezes, no surprises.

 

I guess something did fall out of the wound just then, hey? The moment you realise you’re content with your lifestyle because you describe it as a ‘tomb’…

 

Til next time x

Advertisements