I would pretend I had problems with my head-- often, I would imagine things that weren't there, and make them real. But now, now there's something possibly really wrong. And I'm not fazed by it. I'm closer to wondering what will happen next.
Time is moving too fast. Perception is being blown out of the water. Weeks are grouped together where months used to be sorted. Days are merging, events blurring and smudging. What happened Tuesday? Can I be sure it wasn't Wednesday? I can't remember Monday at all.
I fade out for hours or minutes; it doesn't matter which. Focusing on one thing, I see nothing else until that feeble focus is broken.
How can Time do this? Or is it just me? Am I seeing Time differently?
It's strange. I would pretend I had problems with my head-- often, I would imagine things that weren't there, and make them real. But now, now there's something possibly really wrong. And I'm not fazed by it. I'm closer to wondering what will happen next.
I wonder if I'll be able to Control Time for a little bit...
It’s been so long… such a long time since I didn’t want to sleep. I want to stay awake longer, away from the consuming, soothing darkness. I want to sit in the blinding light, that light that causes a throbbing pain.
But it’s okay. I’ll sleep tonight. I know that when I wake up, _____ will be there. If _____ is there, then I’ll be alright.
The light won’t hurt as much.
I sit on the floor, my back to the island in the middle of the kitchen. The white, thick curtains that hang before the glass doors wave slightly, mimicking my thought process. Voices and words, sentences and songs bounce off each other with the slowness of jelly, and inspiration comes. I must write.
Talking to _____ about stories usually ends up this way. She helps me plenty with road blocks and lack of inspiration.
It’s easy to just rant to her, and she’ll point out the loopholes that must be fixed.
But I’ll be gone soon. I won’t see _____ for another long while.
Been feeling kind of off lately. Detached, again. The phrase ‘abandonment’ spins through my head, but I feel it would be more as if I am the one abandoning. I wish not to deal with anything, and there’s a picture in my mind with no shape and no colour. Drifting. Nightmares lack their appeal and excitement, but terrify like I am a child. There’s no feeling, like I am heartless. A Heartless. A Nobody.
I continuously think that there should be a camera filming everything happening. Each day is a performance, complete with costumes and a cast, reciting parts for an empty audience. The stage echoes and the plotline has been dropped numerous times, only to be picked back up again and used as guidelines. My lines are constantly forgotten and I’m left hanging, attempting to wing the part, not knowing what the ending will be like and not knowing what I want it to be like. Dates are approaching as days pass, some of them dreaded, others empty and boring.
Most importantly, however, I believe I may see _____ again before school begins.
There’s really no way to reach me,
Is there really no way to reach me?
Am I already…?
‘Cause I’m already gone.