Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Sweating Buckets

The heat here is overwhelming...no, seriously, yesterday it was 43°C with the heat factor.

I felt like I was drippng away to nothingness.

It's an interesting image, don't you think?  To drip away into non-existence.  To fade from memory as if you never were, evaporating into the atmosphere only to float around with the trillions of other particles.

Stephen King, an amazing writer in my opinion, wrote in a preface of a collection of short stories "Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym."

That feeling of loneliness is like walking into a vast cavern and yelling at the top of your lungs...It can be an incredible short-term experience, but then you realize that all you're listening to is your own voice from a short while ago.

To make a connection, a reciprocal one obviously, can make you float on air.  Make you feel like you're on top of the world at all times, but sometimes that connection doesn't mean as much to them as it does to you.  Or vice-versa.

You're a support structure, you're a sounding board, you're a reservation for one at the best restaurant in town.  Granted, everyone needs that, but once again, you end up being alone...and there's that word again. That horrible word.

It resonates inside of you when you say it, but no one feels it the same way you do.  They don't feel it echoing in the recesses of your very being, until all it is is a voice, a tiny little voice, saying that things won't change.

Fucking little voice. Fucking little word. Fucking sensation.

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