On This Day

Something kind of sad

The screen blurs as tears run down my face. The items I hold in my hand become indiscernible. The window blurs as the rain drips down the pane. This day is sad. The rain makes it calmer, cleansing all that is dirty outside, but the tears do not function in the same way. It is as if the dark cloud has infiltrated the lungs, or more the chest, and the stomach. Eating is painful, though a must. The food filters its way back and forth from one cheek to the other opposite it. Not tasting good, despite the efforts of my tongue. I swallow sooner than I should be. The newspaper shows images of far away lands, ones that seem more peaceful, more whole. The happy birthday flower falls from the wall, again. I wait. I want more for myself, for the world. I want, above all, to make a difference, and have a family to go home to. Someone who will not waiver, who I don’t have to guess about. Steady. I want to be an explorer, but am done exploring alone. The tears dry, and then start up again. Running down the same lines as those before it. A following of the family. My body holds so much pain, but only in places that can not be touched. I’ve tried before, to rid them. But nothing will go deep enough. Nothing but the end. The end is something I think about often. Not afraid of it, but perhaps quite the opposite, a waiting for it. A wanting at times. This is one of those times. There is nothing in or around my life that qualifies for this wanting. I am a fortunate one. The “1%” as the “99%” call it — a new fad of 2011. Maybe this is the problem though. When we can have anything we begin to turn in on ourselves, wondering what else is out there. I wonder what else is out there. What all the fuss is about. I don’t want “things,” I don’t need “things,” other than food, but I don’t think that counts — God? Does food count as a “thing?” If it was a bit warmer I’d put on a bathing suit and go stand in the rain. Let it fall over me, hopefully to cleanse the dirt off, the dirt or the hurt or the fears. The fears of living in fact. For I think I am more afraid to live than to die. Dying would be easy. The ending. The final ending of everything. My hand goes up to my heart subconsciously, as the tears fall, and the rain starts getting harder. Sheets fall, I can barely see the other side of the street. My heart has a slow beat, but a strong one that I can feel through my layers of clothing. Getting dressed should help but the effort it would take stops me. I sit in my feelings, my cloud and my sweats. My stomach is tight as well. My anxiety is what gives me the abs of a body builder. Laugh but it is true. Ironic and sad, these are things that make us laugh.