The world stopped. For me at least.
The ground started shaking, the tides came back with a vengeance, the wind started howling as
the clouds hid the moon. lt might be my imagination or it might be the reality, but the voices are
back and they're no longer in my head, I hear them whisper in my ear, I heard them crying in the
darkness or that could have been me.
The more I move, the more the ground crumbles. The dream that I created that I once gently
handled along with my heart, now shattered and covered with blood.
The world is ending but it might be just mine. The time has stopped, but everyone was moving, I
was drowning but everyone was breathing I see them screaming but all I hear is the breaking of something inside of me.
I tried, I tried to come back to the surface but the current won't let me. The grip I had with reality
was bruising and the voices says to let go, let go, but I couldn't.
Everything turned black then, I might be looking, but not enough to be seeing. There were
hands all over me, but the bugs under my skin were gnawing, I might have drawn red then, but
the bugs are still gnawing.
Let go. Let go.
Breathing wasn't enough, surviving wasn't enough. Wondering became too much, but the pain was enough.
The pain that comes within, the slow dropping of something inside us could be enough. The cold that wonders in my skin and the hollowness can be grounding too.
And it's then that I realized that dying doesn't always mean parting, that dying could also mean living but not actually living.
