The moment amidst

You sit there, on the bottom bunk; the full over full. The carpet beneath your barren feet is rough and not comforting in any way. Something inside of you shifts as you realize anything could happen.

You sit there, the silence threatening. The air is stagnant, and time seems to be at a standstill. The distant sound of a smoke alarm beeps, once again bringing attention to the necessity of a new battery. 

The cars outside of your bedroom drive by, faster than they should on a Monday night at 11:15. You turn to your pet's enclosure: decrepit. You don't understand why you won't let go if you can't be bothered to take better care of him.

You scan the dimly-lit room for your guitar. Your mother bought it for you on Christmas, and it's been your prized-possession ever since. It's soothed you and calmed you from the moment you learned the G chord. Now, holding it brings memories of an ex-"lover". 

Mere thoughts of said "lover", Lilac, threaten to break your heart into pieces. Your sister watching, amused, as the flower stares at you with a criminal lust. Your unspoken cry for help unheard, simply diving deeper into your mind.

She took you into your closet and closed the door. She pinned you to the wall and kissed your neck. Her eyes burn into your soul; a forever broken child is left in ruins as the Lilac exits the closet.

You sit there, on the bed, and freeze. You wait, desperately, for tears to spill out of your ducts. Yet, they never leave and never arrive.

You sniffle, wishing your leaking sinuses were a byproduct of water coming from your eyes. You glance at the time: 11:22. Oh, how the day goes by so quickly, yet so painstakingly slowly.

You notice your black snapback, the word "Nike" engraved into the front. You swore nothing reminded you of him anymore. You were wrong.

A fury like no other takes over your body, as one too many broken promises hold you down as you're left screaming for help.

The one time your mother wasn't there when you needed her most. The one time the forest wasn't awake to talk you down. The one time you didn't feel safe by yourself.

You sit there, the silence making it clear that an more noise would drive you crazy, though you longed for the presence of another person. You look to your production equipment, scattered about. Your binder in the closet is a reminder that you can't trust yourself anymore.

You remember that you could pray. Yes, praying is good, you remember that. Alas, you haven't spoken for an hour, and you're reserving energy waiting for the tears to flow. 

A hug would do nicely. A hug from someone you hold dear to your own heart. A hug never lasts as long as it should.

At long last, you push a single tear out of your duct. None more arise, though a frog in your throat is present.

You wonder if tears would come if you-

No, not that. Anything but that. The only tears that would fall would be from other people who suddenly care about you more.

Anxiety, a depressive state, an uncontrollable temper. A lack of consumption, a quickened heartbeat, a loss of breath. Asking for a number brings only fear, panic, and a deeply-rooted anxiousness.

You force yourself to look at the clock: 11:33. The thought of not being believed hurts more than anything else. The lack of interest in everything brings concern, but one's own fault isn't on their mind.

No notifications bring an ease and pain incomparable to other things. The lights in the loft are off, and the light in your eyes flickers before going out. You succumb to the pressure in the air, and everything is numb.

You sit there, wondering why you haven't ... yet.

The pain in your back requires Motrin, and there's just enough downstairs. The question is, take enough, or be plentiful? It's up to you, but one would have dire consequences. The other, safer, would bring more pain. 

What about the sun, the rain, the snow? The sleet on March 1, or the flowers that are yet to grow? What about the songs you've yet to release? Your mother, who can sleep at peace?

What about the friends that you have made? What about the family, inseverable by the sharpest blade? What about the connections forged by fire? What about the one whom is your greatest desire?

But what of the one who awaits in the sky? What of the one who never only stood by? What of the one who's the reason you're still alive? What of Him?

What of the suffering before, during, and after a storm? What about the times when your bed wasn't even warm? What of the thought that you could end all of the pain without a second thought besides the promise for that Wednesday?

You're at a crossroads, and neither option seems right. You've been depressed for three years, since 7th grade, and every love's flame has been extinguished by a wave of heartache.

You broke down at your grandparents' house because you suddenly couldn't play the guitar. The last time you let tears fall. It was 2 weeks ago. 

The air is stagnant. The wind blows gently outside, though the cold burns your heart. The carpet is rough and uncomfortable. The bed is too low to the ground. Your mistakes too plentiful. Your grades too low to make your mother proud. Your siblings too young to understand the pain you're experiencing. Your older sibling too different to comprehend the hurt you're feeling. Your mother too professionally biased to notice your agony. Your father too distant to be human. Your friends too problematic to see your strife. Your interest too new to rant to. Your mind too ruptured to fix. Your therapist, unseen in weeks.

You couldn't make it a month without seeing her. You'd rather be dead than think about the flower; at least if you died, your memories of her wouldn't haunt you. You failed to withstand the affliction again. You were too weak to bear the weight of the world at 15.

You sit there, wondering if you were truly going to purposefully ********. You stare at the time: 11:55. You think that it's good enough. You take the moment amidst the pain and the silence to feel the lack of sound.

Finally, tears.

12:00 am.