I'm still standing in the middle of the desert. I can see spots around me turning to glass so slick you would slide off if you tried to stand on it. I think. Everything else is still devoid of color, movement, taste, smell. But there is oxygen and I am not blind. I'm still standing in the same spot, not sinking into the sea of sand. I'm not sure what the glass spots are. There is a spec of motion on the edge of my vision. Could be the start of a migraine, or the end.
I do not understand why the beginning of this road is so different from the last road. I'm hoping it's because my brain realized I can't withstand that kind of pain ever again.
I am moody today. I am pissed at everyone. I may not be nice today. I need to build my wall taller. But how do you build a wall out of sand? Is life a bowl of sand? Sand castles eventually dry up and fall apart.
Every time I let reality in for even a second my chest is flattened by a steam roller. It hurts so fucking much I don't know what to do. Writing doesn't help, not yet. I need my punching bag.
Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out...
The fire is mesmerizing. I love to hear the flicker of flames, snap and crackle of the wood, and feel the warmth even if it is only one sided. You have to keep turning around to wrap up in it. Just like life, you have to be an active part of the relationship or it won't work. Else one side will fry and one side will freeze. Take responsibility for your actions.
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