mostly cloudy

I am a writer who doesn’t write, a poet without words in their mind. I am silent and stoic after every bad dream. The walls around my thoughts are taller than Everest but they never rest. I am too black and blue to show my colours, I simply stay away from others. There is music in my veins and in my blood, I sing and dance until I have to stop. Oh, I used to be young and carefree. No, that’s not true, I always lived in a cage. And from time to time, I am consumed with this inner rage. I hate myself and every moment that I breathe. But I love life and am not ready to leave.

And who will even understand this ramble, or more importantly for me, care? Who cares? It doesn’t matter. Does it? Because in the end the words that are finally bleeding out of my skull are nothing special and just a blink in an eye. A thought of trillions a day. A drop of water in an ocean. They are not who I am tomorrow, just a photograph of today’s sorrow. I long to belong, but never will. I am free to be everything and nothing all at once, a contradiction in every sense. It’s a lonely existence, but it holds a certain allure that keeps me anchored to my isolation. As I am getting older, everything that was once charming or endearing about me turns into something annoying. And the acquaintances I have are turning into strangers too. The sky is blue, the sun is shining. Pearl Jam’s Dark Matter is spinning here too. I am lonely. It is what it is. It makes me feel wrong and unimportant and unworthy. But what do I know?! Right now, in this moment, I need more. Just a little more than I have. But I am a writer who doesn’t write, a poet without words. A dreamer of nightmares, a keeper of secrets, and a reminder of memories. In my tower my unspoken words echo endlessly off the walls, my mind never rests. Maybe I am crazy, maybe I don’t make sense. Maybe I am just a drop of water in an ocean that became a raindrop falling out of a cloud. Maybe if the sun shines on me, I turn into a rainbow. Maybe?!

And as the sun sets on another day, I am left with my thoughts, my unwritten verses, and the bittersweet melody of solitude dancing in my brain.

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Fiction – 419 words – reading time 2 minutes