Hazel Eyes under the Summer Sky

A haze, fogging up his mind. His emotions unknown even to himself. Is he bored? Is he happy? Is he angry? Is he sad? Dimly, he is aware of the discomfort in his chest, like his heart is being squeezed and pulled by a couple of toddlers. It’s not painful, or alarming, but it makes him uneasy. It doesn’t feel physical either, like the feeling is being caused by something in the corporal realm. He’s on the floor, his limbs spread like a star, a thin shirt and jeans shielding his skin from the cold tile, his arms bare against the chilled surface. He stares at the ceiling, and tries to figure out this mystery he is feeling, going through the same thought loop over, and over, and over again. What am I feeling? Why does my chest feel strange? Am I feeling sad? I don’t feel sad. But if I’m not sad, why does my chest feel weird? Am I angry? I’m not really mad at anything right now. What am I feeling? People always feel something, right? Is something wrong with me if I’m not feeling something? But I must be feeling something, otherwise my chest wouldn’t feel tight. So what am I feeling? And he goes through it, repeating the cycle, over, and over, and over again. And with each repetition the fog becomes thicker and thicker, his mind becoming more and more befuddled. Eventually, he gives up. He pushes himself up, and rises, swaying as the blood rushes from his head. Almost without realizing it, he steps out the door, and goes for a walk, the afternoon sun toasting the back of his neck. He walks, his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s slumped, like he’s weathering a raging winter storm, yet he’s as dry as the metaphorical bone. The day is beautiful, yet the haze hides it from his sight. His chest feels tight. He still feels numb. He still is trapped in the loop, asking the same questions over and over again. But then… he looks up, and sees the sky. The setting sun painting the wispy clouds pinks and oranges, the sky shifting towards a rich purple. The haze begins to disperse, the colors becoming more vibrant, the world gaining life. The questions are still left unanswered, the tightness in his chest feels no different, nothing’s really changed. Yet it’s okay. The world may go to hell, his life may come crashing down around him, he may die alone, forgotten and abandoned, yet the sky will always be there. No matter how bad it gets, no matter what happens, the summer sky will still have that purple hue and those cotton candy clouds.