I wanna hug you, hold you, shake you, smother you.. as if you were my own. If pain were alphabets perhaps this is how they would read.
Her fingers twitch with a ferocity and a need to write, to write without a pause without as much as an interruption to breathe or think. She feels sad. Tonight.
She breathes and takes in the raw air. Wanting bad not to feel. But as always she fails. She wants bad not to write but she does. She wants bad to sleep so the night passes by, murkily in her sleep. But she can't.. all she wants to do is to write.. as if it were the solution, her absolution. Is she running or escaping? Moving away or silently returning? She cries hoarse to herself and to destiny.. that she does not want her mind to go back from where it just emerged.
Has nothing changed?
She's afraid, so afraid she can't tell anyone. Afraid of getting trapped in the times she had frozen.