• awallflower 22w


    One night, while you are grieving, you’ll go to sleep and the pain will come to bed with you and it will sit on your chest like a relocated heart and for a moment, you will understand every plane crash and every hurricane and every forest fire that ever came to be. You will understand every chaotic blizzard and every sinking flood because it will be you, you will be this physical tangible destruction and you will be proof that people can be natural disasters, too.
    You will tell yourself that this is it, the world has officially ended on the atlas of your lap. Life as you know it, the earthly revolving dimension you live in, the sphere that rotates in your living room has somehow come to a stop, ceased to exist, impossible to swallow and in the middle of your darkness, beyond your own will, you will awaken the next day and you will feel used and bandaged, broken and heavy, tired and empty but you will drag yourself to look out of the window, and you will see the people. You will watch them as they rush to catch the bus, speed to work, enter bakeries, you will watch them live. Your friends will momentarily come to sympathize with you but eventually they will begin discussing severed parts of their lives like the light-bulb in their bedroom that they haven’t managed to change yet, the problems they have with their families or the trips they plan to take with their roommates and slowly, you begin to realize the world has remained in tact. Birds have not fallen from the sky, the ground hasn’t swallowed itself, the earth remained moving with or without your pain. It has continued to hold itself, even when it has fallen apart and finally, like anything else, the pain will pack itself and move on, exit from where it first entered. It will tip-toe from the front door, leaving as quietly as it came the world carries us forward, even when we are heavy even when we are immobilized, it carries us forward and the most we can hope for is to learn that the next time the pain comes to visit, we do not allow it to overstay its welcome.