Staring at the wall in front of my desk as my eyes slowly begin to lose focus of what's ahead.
My mind is blank but a million thoughts somehow continue to race through it.
I can feel it.
I can feel the sorrow slowly creeping through every inch of my body. Paralyzing each cell, fibre and tissue as it makes it's way towards my extremities.
I'm not at my desk anymore. My mind lies elsewhere:
In a closed dark room, all alone. Only I'm not afraid. Not claustrophobic either.
I embrace the darkness.
I embrace the sorrow like an old friend. He used to bring me pain but now I feel extremely comfortable in his arms that I'm scared to let go.
I'm scared that going back to being happy will only make the next fall harder. And that may be after this long I've forgotten what it's like to be happy.
A tear rolls down my cheek. The hot, wet sensation reminds me that I'm at my desk and not locked in that cold, dark room.
But why did I feel safer back there?
YOU ARE READING
Unfinished Paintings
PoetryA collection of my prose, poetry and epiphanies over the past couple of years. I've always loved writing and composing, but I'd never assumed anything I wrote was worth being read by anyone but myself. Writing has always been a way for my mind to co...
