You walk across the
parquet flooring. Back hunched, mind lost, mouth dry, out of words, out of
luck.
You just want the
feel of soft fabric against your skin; material could never make you so happy.
The way you seem to float on a light cloud of endless possibility. Dreaming;
thinking about the conceivable patterns of such a perfectly inconceivable
world.
You want the feel of
your head sinking in your own thoughts. Your body, as tense as it is, to
exhale; for everything to float up in the air enough for you to take a few
breaths before stepping back into the world you have grown tired of.
Every single day
needs a push. A push to love, to speak, to care, to walk, to run, to work, to
do.
Your eyes failing
you, covers falling faster than anything else; weight much more than what you
can ever carry, multiplied. Everything is a blur, literally. Everything and
everyone is passing by you and you can't see them, or focus. Numb.
You're a bit on the
edge, a little of out of reach. Shadows being cast all around you. Whispers
increasing, yet no matter how loud, you don't understand. You're in your own
element, but you can't get out.
Save me, you call.
I'm close to falling off.
I need sleep.
