Lately

I want to scream, but I’d forgotten how.
The sound forms in my throat and doesn’t come out. It turns to a lump and I swallow it, forcing it down my throat and into my stomach, where it ties another knot.
I am made of knots, and lumps, and itching under my skin and noise inside my head, and I want to scream.
But I’d forgotten how.

There’s this feeling.
It crawls right under the skin. Sometimes you can see it from the corner of your eye. It gets stronger in the silences between songs, between words, your own or others’, between noises meant to drown it out. It resonates through the mind, amplifying everything that should be quieted down, muting all that needs to be louder. It itches. It itches on the insides of elbows and wrists. You can spot it in restless legs, restless bodies, restless minds. If you listen in just the right way, you can hear it scream silently, trying to get out.
There’s this feeling. Do you know it?

“I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.” – Like Crazy

“How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.” – David Foster Wallace

Worlds don’t end with fire and blood, with screams or whispers, with unimaginable horrors or the pressing of a button. Worlds end with just one word – goodbye.
And sometimes, they just end in silence.

“it was late May, it was hot, and he really ought to take off his overcoat, but his overcoat was his defense against the thin shards of glass that passers-by slipped casually under his skin, not to mention the slow-motion explosion of shop windows, the bone-rattling thunder of subway trains, and the heartbreaking passage of each second, like a grain of sand trickling through his body. No, he would not take off his overcoat.” – Edward St. Aubryn, the Patrick Melrose Series.

I watch as dreams crumble into dust
and float into the darkened skies
and shine so bright, a sea of stars
reflecting in another’s eyes.

“Be not simply good; be good for something.” – Henry David Thoreau.

“We rode on the winds of the rising storm,
We ran to the sounds of the thunder.
We danced among the lightning bolts,
and tore the world asunder.” – The Wheel of Time.

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