Frozen In Time

Frozen In Time

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing59m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Nov 15, 2016
In the beginning, everything was great. Everyone was smiling and running around, having a good time. It was a time when everyone could live without a care in the world. I was one of those people, smiling and living my life. Well, that is, until i fell into the frozen sea. *** Our neat little town is right next to the ocean. The big blue waves a clear and magnificent around us. And its perfect too because due to the secluded location, hardly anyone comes around to disturb the peace. Nothing ever changes. That's what i love most about this place, its predictability. Most people hate the repetition, but not me. I crave for things to remain the same. You could say it's because of my past. But all i really want is just to know what will happen next, so that way i won't get hurt. Then why is it that the past few events were so unpredictable? Why did they have to happen to me? And how the hell am I still alive?
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Tethered

Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.

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