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 34yrs • F •  timber is new to Captain Cynic and has less than 15 posts. New members have certain restrictions and must fill in CAPTCHAs to use various parts of the site.  |
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Criminal |
I blame the leaves. I blame the leaves and the wind that carries them. For nothing is at fault as much as nature. Nothing else is cruel enough to accept the change of seasons, and yet ignore the opportunity to post pone an undeserved death. Nature is a criminal, and it stole the only thing of value I ever had, or ever wanted. Now I am poor, and my life is void of sentiment.
It is unfortunate that misery is followed by numbness, as the calm leads to a storm. For numbness is far worse than misery; comparable to the sound of silence being much more deafening than the scream that It lacks. So as the numbness deafens me, the directions of life become clearer. They cannot be chosen as simply as left and right, because life is not linear. It is both left and right, because all directions of life meet in the middle again. No matter which way you go, you will just go round and round, like a bumper car stuck on its track. Some just break down sooner than others.
So I will tell the undertaker to drive slowly, please, for the one that he carries means more to me than the stars themselves, and without her to shine on the stars will lose their purpose. As I embrace being numb once more I synchronize my breathing with the breaking of the waves, for feeling nothing is like working a machine with no oil, slowly tearing my gears apart. The waves will be my fuel; my pacemaker.
As they lower her body, the wind loses its will to remain constant, while the light forfeits to the dark, and the stars retire their profession, for they have one no longer. And I cannot hide my sorrow as they lay her in the grave.
The seasons still change, but it doesn't anger me anymore. If they didn't, I might just go insane with the monotony. My heart can beat and my lungs can breathe without the help of the waves now, although it took some adjusting to. Time moves the way it used to; there is never enough and it always goes too slow. Strangely enough the days go by quickly. It's the moments that drag on. But I take each one as it comes, hoping it will end better than the last. Gradually I will wake up and shake away the knife in my throat, reminding me of what I have lost. Until then, my tears remain silent, and my words remain few.
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"You may kick my ass, but you won't forget the fight."
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