It is cold inside. Hands are numb and breath, heavy. Seems like a turmoil at times, at times seems like a silence before the storm. A simple fable, a simple love story turned into a sarcastic one. A sarcasm that brought me tears, tore me apart. A joke I felt the life played with me.
It began with a simple message, asking how I was and ended, not bothering how was I, poisoning my life. It has been some time now, and I have become better, colder. I dont feel pain any more. Rocks dont feel a thing. It revived me, revived to go back to my shell. I was out. I was smiling. Cold heart, mine, has stopped answering my questions and prayers seems to be demanding much more patience and faith than they used to. Talks seems to be so meaningless, and I've been feeling like being blank as much as never before. No thoughts, no emotions, no pain. Neither happy, nor sad.
Yet, there is a driving force, I feel it, as I write. There is a wonderful ray of hope, I am sure of, as I write. Its my strength, I guess, asking for my patience. Holding my hand as I fight. I can feel the clench of her fist on my hand, taking me ahead, pushing me to fight, showing me a ray of hope at a distance. I feel like I am walking along in the dusk, with night about to come, worried. But the hand that held mine, telling me not to worry but to enjoy the stars of the dark night. Telling me darker the night, brighter the stars.
It began with a simple message, asking how I was and ended, not bothering how was I, poisoning my life. It has been some time now, and I have become better, colder. I dont feel pain any more. Rocks dont feel a thing. It revived me, revived to go back to my shell. I was out. I was smiling. Cold heart, mine, has stopped answering my questions and prayers seems to be demanding much more patience and faith than they used to. Talks seems to be so meaningless, and I've been feeling like being blank as much as never before. No thoughts, no emotions, no pain. Neither happy, nor sad.
Yet, there is a driving force, I feel it, as I write. There is a wonderful ray of hope, I am sure of, as I write. Its my strength, I guess, asking for my patience. Holding my hand as I fight. I can feel the clench of her fist on my hand, taking me ahead, pushing me to fight, showing me a ray of hope at a distance. I feel like I am walking along in the dusk, with night about to come, worried. But the hand that held mine, telling me not to worry but to enjoy the stars of the dark night. Telling me darker the night, brighter the stars.
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