Now those walls, as previously mentioned, may be closing in on me. Reaching what I might have once considered a ‘higher understanding’ can clearly only get me so far. This is a tomb, and it matches the empty cave inside of my chest. I’ve executed this effort so efficiently that I’ve met the part of the story where the words just jumble on the page and collide like waves in the ocean, crashing against the sand. Explaining to the desert what a snowstorm feels like seems more realistic than meeting any sort of conclusion in this darkness. I was never any good at making sense of numbers, but each moment of my life is monitored by a clock. The worst part is that I am so far from alone. I have compassion for those who identify with this. I also have pity for those who don’t. Is it so that misery indeed loves company? Or is it more that we, in an effort to reach a certain level of comfort and understanding have a tendency to gravitate toward those who may have suffered the same or similarly to ourselves? And so it goes. I once dreamed that the streets filled with water and all the occupants of my town were escorted away from our homes. We were brought to an island that had an old-world feel to it, where we were fastened into stationary seats that floated above the water. Families were separated, there was panic all around…but all I can remember is what an incredible feeling of peace it brought me.
