The flow of things ☑ Completed

004

004 - The observationist

It is messy. A chaotic scene unfolded onto the paper as she poured out her heart on that notebook. Her conflicting thoughts were everywhere, her emotions were complex and her perspectives changed like the passing of a tide. Flipping through the pages of her book, you could clearly see the mess she was. Somehow she had gotten everything she was on the inside, every tornado swirling from within to rip up the pages of her journal and reveal it to the outside world. A sight of disarray extended across paper.

The blue lines could tell you if you didn't get it at first glance. The white spaces in-between could vouch for them. The writing indents resembled the pressure that reigned down upon her, never leaving, never giving her a second to breathe. And the strokes, scribbles and scattered swirls could exactly portray how convoluted her being had been for ages now.

She sat on the porch too trapped behind the cell bars of her mind to notice the calmness nature was offering. The cooling soft breeze of the salty Atlantic Ocean sliding pass her. The trees all swayed in unanimous approval of this gentle wind. The clouds danced in the sky performing hypnotic routines that made most of the normal, everyday people stop and stare, but not her, no. She was already captivated by the tales that seemed to be on repeat in her brain. Her own personal movie theater featuring horrific films that made white lines shoot up and down her spine and tear jerkers that shattered her heart and made it ache with sorrow.

How peculiar is it not? She seemed to be such an observationist yet only when it pleased her. She took attend to the degrading bricks of one of the pillars that held up the building but didn't see the flock of birds that flew pass the pot of marigolds right beside her moments earlier.

Nor did she notice her ginger tabby chasing a squirrel up an oak tree that stood proudly in their garden or how the lavender bushes were the hottest spot on the block for quick chit chat. The bees and butterflies hovered in mutual understanding and the birds flew about spreading gossip to one another. Funny how she chose what to see.

She picked up a red sharpie while turning to a brand new page. The thin paper cut through her index finger in one quick slice. She looked at her hand and noticed the little pieces of loose skin around her nails. She involuntarily sighed. She started picking at them, trying to rip them out without hurting her cuticle and leaving a mark. After a few moments of some success the first injury was done. The skin on one of her fingers held with great might. He clearly had no intentions of leaving.

"Was it even possible?" she thought to herself.

Can something ever just leave without having consequences? Or was it some kind of philosophical rule or life theory? Everything has to leave an imprint. Nothing can just go away. There will always be proof of its existence somewhere. She wanted her loose ends of skin to go away and end up with bigger and sorer injuries.

"Maybe... it is true then" she tapped her sharpie against the chair.

No matter how hard you try, things will always follow you. No matter how strong you are, and how optimistically you pick yourself up and create a better 'you', you will never have a clean slate. Forever burdened with what you are trying so desperately to run from.

She clenched her stomach, feeling the waves of hopelessness crush her. Dragging her to the dark depths of her endless sea. Her breathing quickened and her eyes focused out. Her ears shut sound out and her body fell limp.

She found herself drowning again. Falling further and further into the icy waters. A feeling of flightlessness and freefalling. The bottom might just be around the corner.

"Maybe... once I finally reach it, it'll all end."