My Own Grief

The more I immerse myself in my real world, the more awake I am to it, the more i feel, and the more I fall in love with it, the more I want to die. Why is that? Why is it that the real world is so cruel. That once I open my eyes, it’s actually not livable?

Sometimes I want to lay my forehead on pages of a book, close my eyes. I want there to be grass surrounding me. Something that will invade my senses immediately, and let me fall asleep with it. I want to wake up to wafflemarks on the forehead, and caress my fingertips over them, feeling the bumps.

I want to take the quickest exit on the freeway, and then once I’m at that full stop, finish. Let my surroundings blur out and be stripped away from me.

That’s totally okay. In fact, I welcome it.

I walked inside the house today, and felt so lighted up with energy. Though I haven’t eaten anything and it’s 5 p.m… My knees were shivering because I had no energy. But I did. I went upstairs and saw my brother. I hugged him, I smiled. I took in all of his movements, his body language, his smile. His expression. The way his thumbs keyed the controls.

I’m strangely calm. Dead or aliveIt’s like I can actually feel the fiber of earth surrounding me. It’s not that large. I can feel a person’s thoughts on my body. I can see humour spilling out of their eyes sometimes.

My stomach clenches at times, not from stress or sadness.

There’s a stranger a few doors down from me. Someone I’ve never met. Someone who just got home, or is just feeding their dog. They might even be watching a show, with a drink in their hand. Throwing their heads back and laughing out loud. They might be intertwining their fingers with someone elses’. They might be crying.

And if that’s the last thing I ever see, that’s okay.