It was like a gaping void: big, empty and strong, coming on like a tidal wave, leaving you drenched from head to toe in loneliness.
Some days I wonder how this will all end. Do we bow out in style in a blindingly bright flash of white light? Lie in bed today and not ever wake up again to a tomorrow? Stroll into an infinitely deceiving maze and end up losing ourselves forever?
Being asleep: of being in a state of blissful nothingness, where time knows not body nor mind. The best feeling ever is when you wake up to chirping feathered friends and blue skies overhead, with remnants of a lovely dream that you are able to replay in your mind – of memories still so fresh, flowers would blossom at a rise of your fingers and dry leaves would float upwards at your call.
Such an imaginary power is rare, and when the feeling eventually subsides, it is like you have ran a 24-hour marathon in fast-forward. Skipping the dirty details and the all-important finish line, what you feel is just this: empty, used, tired.
Now, I think I may have gotten way ahead of myself. How can you top yourself when you’ve already crashed through the ceiling, raining debris in your wake, pieces falling off the edges of your own little world?
Look: I just want to curl up in bed and read my favourite books. I cannot ask for anything simpler than that, and even that I cannot have. And it sucks.