How They Drown

Was This How You Felt?

Do you ever wonder, after a long long day, of excitements and mostly disappointments, how one starts working and thinks. Pens tapping along a rhythm as they think. They think and they explore the deepest, darkest, furthest corners of their mind. They don't know why. It's torture at its best. Worries surface with the most horrendous explosion, like the way the universe started, all rushing in with a giant bang.

And then there was silence.

A silence so calm, all thoughts disappear. Leaving a mere shell of matter, a stump of weight at the desk. No one beside them, like usual. What's usual? What's normal anymore? They think, but they think of nothing. No thoughts were made, but many appear.  Of drowsiness, sadness, loneliness. To be drowned under a wave of emotion, yet, dryness still remains. To want to let go of reality, but realising they can't. He let go too.. But the tug of reality was always stronger, there's no way of escaping it - people are waiting for the next piece - so they remain in between. A hollow realm of the mind, a blank slate of nothingness. Realisation is a chilling stab to the heart, the feeling of cold sharp knives straight through the body, a excruciating pain of being stuck in a maze filled with thorns.

Time passes quickly of the outside, but still they remain in statue, half way in between space and the time of their own - never moving, never there. They don't know when they stopped writing, they don't know when they stopped working. The thoughts are up in the clouds, some down in the depth of hell. A chaos of buffering with no strings attached. No one to pull them back. They try to swim up to the surface, but the waves are too strong. Again and again, they get dragged back down under, back to the beginning, to go round the circle again. A never ending cycle. A spiral down the murky well.

Then there's a sudden intake of breathe, an attempt in breaking the trance. But realisation hits, and the whole thing goes again. An hour goes, then two... Time goes by without them realising. 'It's 5am, what is going on?' They think. It's confusing. They look down at their unfinished work, a violin case on the side, and they snap out of their minds. But it's too late, another day has already begun.

Another day of acting, pretending to be fine, of smiling so wide, no one ever knows why they shine. But they're never fine, because after all, they drown. Yes, they don't mind playing the violin, they love to do that, it keeps them out of their own head. Work is always a great distraction, only when it involves another person. Another person... When was the last time he interacted with someone? The last time...No! It was still too much to think about... It's too much on their own. They will finally suffocate in their own thoughts when they can't climb back out. You never know. Some call it procrastination, others call it a lack of concentration. It's neither, but they can't come up with a reason, deep inside they wish to unlearn the reason and it suffocates them.

= =

What goes up will always come down. They may be fine for the while,  but that weight will drag them around. Some days they're well distracted, most by the overwhelming sensations of the outside world – but lest it's a good feeling and they let it pass. It depends on whether there's a hole in their ship, with waves that can rush in and eventually make it sink. Eventually. One day they'll be in the same position – it may be weeks, months, years after their realisation. It may as well be when they believe they've let go of the past. Like the Titanic that hit the iceberg, like when it created that hole. Icy waves flood in and they struggle to breathe. It can attack suddenly, like a snake in its hidings, biting, wrangling and never letting go. They'll struggle and fight. They'll struggle. They'll fight.

But then they don't. They don't and the horrid tightening of the rope wins.

A silence so calm, all thoughts disappear. Leaving a mere shell of matter, a stump of weight. They think, but they think of nothing. No thoughts were made, but many appear. When that day comes, they'll fear. Fear of their close ones - Close ONE - their world, their dreams. They may wonder, what might this be? Those days of brightness, gone, like the light of the candle that's burnt out. They'll forget. Those days of joy, of laughter, of fun. The sugar-coated lullaby of the depth, waiting for that one moment. That moment when all logical explanations disappears and they take the plunge into the darkness. Forever.

In its place of what is left - fallen ashes of the rope, molten wax and a wisp of that hint of smoke. A scent that lingers for those who follow, their minds filled with what's right below.

Eddy, love, I'll see you soon.