A Cornered Gurl
Published in

A Cornered Gurl

— an anecdote of potpourris.

The Intersection

Since I have nothing better to do, I’ll keep my pace steady.

Photo by bantersnaps on Unsplash

Scream — is what my head constantly wants.

The night was never without war — two all at once, sometimes. Countless unnecessary battles have been waged just because we couldn’t hold our iron tongue at peace. Fingers pointing ceaselessly at every other end but their own and for what?

My head would always feel swarmed before my sleep. Swarmed, with innumerable screeching thoughts — like how flies are with the decays — trying their best to reach the light. Even if it’s only a split second, I would always be the one who’s paying such a high toll.

If my body could speak, it would show nothing other than bruises. However, it yearns for yet another fight. My body was always … relentless. She wouldn’t bow to the steepest mountain there is. She was always a fighter. Resistance would flow fluently, distributing every fuel I had left to each cell so that my truth won’t be silenced.

I wish I could say the same for my head. Then again, beggars can’t be choosers.

When all is said and done, I would lie completely still on my bed.

My head — as always — would be the cause of my death. It appears it has no recollection of what silence is. Had it gone straight into the bin, I wouldn’t know. My mind has a mind of its own. It has the capability to both think and feel, yet it’s not any good in both.

Even if I turned every light off, my once unseen thoughts would be gleaming. Each would be incandescing throughout the room, leaving traces of unwanted heat that holds the power to turn my state against me. It used to have full control of my body with my scars as proof. She triumphed though, over a pack of promise that was made with another soul.

But I’m afraid my mind has grown unholy, for each notion it bares has no other power than to hurt.

As a result, I’ve grown out of balance each and every day.

As I embrace my worn-out mattress, with the company of the warmest blanket which fails to shield me from the cold as I sink further into the comforting languor I long for one:

On any day now, peace will be upon thee.

It may only be one intersection away.

Only then, all the rough waves that have flooded your shores with restlessness, the never-ending crude droplets that were said to hold the power to penetrate a gallant boulder such as yourself would exist no more.

Leaving you with nothing but love for yourself, in the state where movement, sounds, and every disrupting emotions would remain absent.

Until then, set course to its mirage.



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