My eyes close and I'm lost, lost in the sound, the smell, lost in the overwhelming nature of the nothingness. I'm lost in the never ending darkness, the silence, the sight of this absence. I'm lost, somehow falling and feeling as though I've never been more grounded, I hang in a balance that no one is meant to feel. The air is still as it rushes through my hair, the blackness is blinding and the silence deafens me. So, balanced on the edge of a void I've already fallen into, I wait.
I wait for the end. I wait for the all-encompassing darkness to notice me, a smudge in its perfect picture, a brush stroke out of place, a little, tiny person, insignificant, but a flaw nonetheless, I wait for it to notice me, a mistake, and end it. I wait for it to consume me, I can almost feel the wisps gliding down my throat, squeezing my lungs, I feel the darkness wrap its fingers around my waist and simply holding me until I fade, until my very existence is smoothed and smothered so that it fits on the black canvas, so that my soul wanders with the others, colourless and lost, no longer a mistake.
Mercy long ago lost in the depths of the darkness it comes for me.
I open my eyes and blink away the night clouding my vision. I sit up and try to remember who I am, where I am, what I am. It comes back to me slowly, it always does, and it's never a sudden realisation, never an epiphany, always a slow trickle, like I forgot to turn the tap all the way off. A few drops of memory at a time I am reintroduced to myself. Albeit a self I wish wasn't mine, but a self. The one thing I can call my own, for now. The one thing I can have and it's the one thing I've spent my whole life running from. A funny kind of justice that I must accept anew every day, every time I learn of myself I must also learn of its inescapability. A reoccurring nightmare that I never really wake up from: me.
YOU ARE READING
The Wanderers
SpiritualPeople wander but not all Wanderers are people, we are more than that, we are writers, artists, inspirers, leaders, scientists, mathematicians, helpers, we are the Wanderers who know when to admit they do not belong. This is a book of quotes and par...