My room has been feeling emptier. Can't explain it. Everything echoes. voices, music, memories. Repeats over and over until I am blinded by a blur of faces and images and colors. It's like when I am alone, I am in a trance, a dream like presence. Everything that throbs and pangs with emotion is beyond nothing more than a sheath of sheer gauze. Barely masking the familiarity, the loneliness of it. Just enough to remember, not enough to forget. It's kind of nice, strangely. It's like never quite being in touch with reality, always floating slightly above the surface. It's easy to sleep now, easy to dream and paint pretty pictures of something very far away in my head. Fall asleep to the sound of whispers and your own heart beat. Slow, calm, steady. I've been painting, I've been singing. I sing and I sing until my throat goes raw and my eyes grow heavy. I sing to be heard, even if it's only me who's listening. I like the solitude of being caught up in your own thoughts. Even in a room full of people, you feel very isolated and safe. Comfortable. I have drawn myself so far and away from the person I was trying so hard to be, for so very long. It was like a dream, the most vivid of dreams. You see yourself, your earthly self- below you-eyes closed and body still. You reach out but can't feel, can't touch; and suddenly you're flying. Weightless, fearless, beautiful. And you wake up and you are glad to be awake and back in reality, but sad to see such an extraordinary and freeing existence vanish. I feel somewhere in between the two places, here and there. Listening to the sounds of the world around me, watching the light change from morning til night. Feeling the warm and the cold of it, seeing the deep dark and the burning bright. Being here, or there. Wherever I am, I might like to stay a while.
photos via tumblr
words written by me