I feel as though helium has been injected into the spaces between my cells. I feel lighter and also slightly intoxicated.
I walked and I walked. And there is no word for this, I walked. It rained and it rained. It poured over me and my flip flops and they flop and they flop and I'm wet. I cried and I cried and I wept. And there is no sound for this, I cried.
One would expect this ordeal to have a cathartic effect. The tears, the sweat, the rain should take my grief with them as they slip off my skin but instead it is metastasized.
Everybody is sad. Everybody is neurotic. Everybody is unique. Everybody likes Modest Mouse's Float on (those who claims they don't are liars). In this age, everybody is everybody. But I detest the color pink and am so grateful I'm not in that loop.
I am not a 21st century girl. I cannot tolerate cryptic codes of post-modernisation. I have exhausted my means for settling for this timeline. I look at my nails and they are bitten down and chipped. I like that. It shows I have my priorities somewhat in place.
How can I find the balance? Between awareness and ignorance. I want to crawl into the cracks of the walls of ancient times, hide and sleep as time goes by.
It has been four days. I am as articulate as a drunk stumbling about in her own puke. And with as much common sense.
How time can inflict pain, how time can heal. If time is all and God is time, what else is there..