Silence.
Silence and darkness.
Silence and darkness and the cold. Nights where I can hear the even breathing and soft snoring and snuffling of the sleeping, where I can hear the hushed Airs outside brushing past the trees, where every now and then I can hear people passing by, talking quietly or loudly. The light from outside seeps through the curtains on one side of the room. And on the other side of the room, through the door we do not close, I can see the shafts of moonlight falling through the un-curtained window up high.
Mostly I keep my eyes closed, feeling the regular pulsation of my blood in my fingertips, appreciating the familiarity of the comfort and warmth of my sheets. And on the outside, perhaps I would look asleep like the others in the room, save for the irregular movements. Rolling onto one side or the other, pushing my hair away from my face, neck, upper back, scratching an itch or two, rolling onto the other side, onto my back, maybe even onto my stomach at times.
And then there is the inside. The mind. The heart. The soul. None of which will be silent.
The night holds its peace, letting the others sleep in the silent and cold dark, but my mind will not be still. Never.
Every word I have said, all the people I have passed by and spoken to, every movement, every action. It has all been memorised and recorded in the archives of my mind, and every night my mind likes to look through and examine the contents of its vast and growing collections. The prayers are silently spoken at the same time, the activities of my mind overlapping with that of my soul. I want to sleep. I want forgiveness for this today, for that yesterday, for this from cycles and cycles ago, for everything I have ever done or said or desired in any way contrary to the Keeper's liking. And most of what I mention was forgotten cycles ago, when I asked forgiveness the first time. Yet I keep asking.
Then there are the prayers asking that I be able to sleep soon. Ironically, I do not choose to stop moving, stop scratching those itches or turning from one side to back to other. I do not choose to make an effort to stop the thoughts that come one after the other erratically and constantly. I keep going.
The chaos of my mind does not cease for a long time. And when it does, I'm no longer aware of it because I'm asleep.
I don't sleep for long after, these midnights. I wake tired and weary.
I wake to light and voices and scents and I just want the silent darkness back.
The silence and darkness and the cold. 🔹
YOU ARE READING
Spontanéité
Short StoryA collection of some bits and pieces of my written works. These bits and pieces weren't all spontaneous pieces of writing, though. They're descriptions of people, places and memories, and maybe they're short stories or other things. I don't know, it...
