THIS

This. A different feeling, a mood beyond comprehension. New. A pain, begining deep down inside, seeded in the darkest crevices of the barely beating heart. Struggling to come to fore, bubbling somewher, waiting but unable to breakthrough. A stillness, menacing in its inactivity, a calmness on the surface, an antithesis. One before an intended storm?  Thoughts that chill the bones, rippling up the spine, spilling from the pores. And yet, that troubling calmness, that inability to emote, to break, to shatter. A mind that needs it, a body demanding, but a heart that refuses to care. Hardened on the outside, or broken beyond repair? A cause to be scared, terrified. Tht person in the mirror who looks like me, that person inside, anything but familiar. A withdrawal, from the known, from the self. A feeling prevails, a million dead. 

This world, a world and a half away from reality, or was that the dream? 

This. Illusion. Stuck, wrapped around an organ, running through the veins. Illusion, spreading rapidly, clouding the vision, the now. Refusing to disembark, to let go, stifling in its power, that pressure. I take a gulp, to breathe, to be. yet it evades, that essence of life. 

This. A loneliness not just in solitude, a loneliness in crowds, amongst the known and the unknown. Then, a mind knowing, a heart wanting, a hope lingers, refuses to fade. 

This hope, a return, to the beginning, the end, the anything. This hope, a reason, a direction, salvation. This hope, for tomorrow is another day. 

This, is all that remains.