I could feel it in the air like a heavy fog that clogs your lungs and slowly suffocates you. You feel as though you have swallowed a wet towel and it is eternally lodged in your throat, and it never leaves.
you melt away down the slimy drains of greasy back alleyways and hand yourself over to the sudsy hands of cold, rotten men who tear you apart peice by peaice then leave you vulnerable and lost and shattered- when you are finally sober enough to see straight, you stumble down steamy corridors and across nappy lawns, like an escaped convict.
guilt-driven people wordlessly drop quarters at your feet like tokens of their regrets, and attach to those coins pieces of their remorse and discontent, not for your life- but for theirs.
you wander for days seeing mirages of the past and feel your life start to sway and tilt before it all topples over like an unstable house built on a sandy foundation in a high tide.
everything is washed out to sea and left there to drown and fade and corrode, the memories losing their grip and relevance, until those final moments where you finally just let the tears fall, instead of trying to wipe them back and hold them hostage in the tear ducts of your soul. you step closer to the edge of the eternal fiery pit of your life that seems to lack an end, and wonder out loud: ”how will I ever get though this?”
You tell yourself the options, the easy way outs, but somewhere in the deep crevices of insanity that ovetook your brain long ago, a small glimmer of hope shines like a speck of gold paint on a vast black asphalt.
you cling to it, like the mast of a sailboat in a hurricane, and you close your eyes and take a step forward, launching yourself into the “afterwards”; slowly inching your way into the relief that comes after surviving a nightmare of a freakish life.
Even just being able to close your eyes at night starts to come as a relief and you can feel yourself again. It all comes back, slowly and painfully, but it does come back, and you will survive this.
close your eyes, you say, survive this moment, you say after every moment, and you grip to the truth.
“They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?”—Jeanette Winterson (via infinitives)
Everyday, millions of people are born. They are pushed out onto the stage of life against their will like understudies without their lines, and expected to act. They are forced to endure this life and the pains that come with it. Sometimes they find moments of happiness, but for the most part, they are unhappy, cold and alone. Some make the best of this cruel world, and try their best to find joy, belonging and hope, but some choose to destroy their fragile life with drugs, self harm, or even, in some cases, suicide. This is not the story of a man who did either one of those two things. he found no joy in the life he lived, nor found the need to destroy it. He was simply a man who did not live up to his dreams. He never reached any of his goals, he never felt success, he never won anything, never saw himself as anything special in the least. He was, like some people seem to be, a loser, a waste of air, and the worst of all, a failure.
From the moment he was old enough to form thoughts in his head, he became aware of his condition. He knew he would never amount to anything, and that his life would lead no-where. He tried to amount to something— anything, but all efforts were to no avail, and he just ended up feeling empty and tired and worthless. So he gave up, lived day to day without much of any change. A grey life.
she glanced at the girl in the mirror and tried to smile, but the girl in the mirror just glared back with peircing, waiting eyes.
So, the girl takes her first position, poised and confident. Her eyes closed for a moment. All of the loud conversations of the room faded and she could only hear the sound of her breathing, and she could feel the blood as they rushed though her veins… She knew she was ready, and that it was now or never. Her eyes flipped open, and with one flick of her hand, music filled the room, and she began to dance.
She moves with such grace and fluidity that her feet seem to lift off the ground at that moment and didn’t touch back down until the last note finished echoing though the room like the final word of an argument. The room seemed to hold it’s breath as the girl held her final position like a stone statue.
But nobody clapped, nobody said a word, until the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. But the only affirmation the girl needed was from the girl in the mirror, who’s eye she finally caught.
but the girl in the mirror did not clap, or cheer or even smile, but she whispered “do better next time” in the girls ear, and then she walked away.