𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 | carlisle cullen (2)

(𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭) anything

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THE ART OF LOSING A MIND IS ASTOUNDINGLY COMPLEX. How can you lose everything you've ever known? After all, you are only your mind and nothing else. Take that away and there's a shell, an empty and hollow space without a purpose. Is there someone trapped inside? Are they screaming for help or did they give up centuries ago?

A mind is a sanctuary, a place to keep secrets and memories like treasures to write pirates maps about. It's a place to hide. To close eyes and imagine that you're somewhere else completely and what then, the world isn't real it's all in your head. Everything is all in your head. Fraying material and burnt corners that catch fire like wisened paper. But what's next?

If you lose your mind, are you really yourself anymore? How can one be sure of stability and clarity within something that does not exist. If the mind is gone but the body remains where is the control? You're playing a game but the battery is dead. It's not fun anymore, you should just stop.

Pathways stretch on and on and words can turn into knives with the smallest twinge of emotional change. But where will you go? There is no mind to hide in anymore when the world turns on you and the rain starts to fall heavier than it did before you understood. But then, if the mind is not there then it doesn't really matter because none of this will bother you anymore. You can't hurt what isn't there.

Details only scratch the surface, the beauty of the world is gone. How can you find beauty in something that you can't see? That turned against you so long ago. You fear that life won't end, that is true. Eternity is a curse when you never wanted forever. But there is an end, there is always an end you just haven't seen it yet.

Every beginning is something to think about. Because there is meaning behind every molecule and pattern that particles make in the sky that you cannot see. Broaden your mind, it's there, it's always been there. The thing is, life is just one game of end. There is no story that you cannot finish. You can't leave a book open with the pages dangling in non existent light. You have to finish it, place your willpower into getting past the parts that make you want to shrivel into dust. It isn't easy, but what is?

You can't do it anymore. You want to end it. Your game has gone on for too long and you're tired. Fire, blood, anguish. Pain is your prophecy. There is no other way. Life starts with purpose, fate will see it fit.

You want it to be over, then finish it.

Finish it Estella, finish it.

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Este opened her eyes. Sleep was a dream, far off from anything that she would understand. Yet for a moment she hadn't felt as though she was lying on the floor of the woods somewhere deep in Forks Washington. For a moment she'd been somewhere else entirely, not somewhere she had wanted to be.

The voices in her mind spoke to her as though festering like a curse inside her own subconscious. Este sat up and felt the twigs and leaves congregate in her hair, she made no attempt to shake them free. The world under her was coarse and uncomfortable even against the marble surface of porcelain skin.

Este tried to remember what she had heard but she couldn't. Maybe she had been asleep, was it so hard to believe when her mind was already cracking under the pressure of everything all at once. There was a lot she didn't understand but Este supposed that her mind could be placed first on that list.

There was a lot she wanted to do. The first was a cure. If only she could find a pathway back to what it had once been like. Este could not remember a time when her mind had not terrified her but she knew somewhere in the tapestry of her life there was a time she was not crazy.