isolated_killer: (Default)
You make it into a stuffy room. You look into people's sweat covered faces, wrinkles on their foreheads, tiredness in their eyes. They're all fed up with their lives, nothing to live for, nothing to think of, nothing to be honest about.
You feel this kind of tiredness that makes you want to jump out of the window. It makes you crawl on the walls. The walls of your mind, and when the walls are growing narrow, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to relax, breathe in, breathe out.
You feel the breeze flowing on your face, so young, looking like an apple on the grass covered with an early dew. But your eyes, speak for themselves, they speak for you. They are too tired and the tiny wrinkles surrounding them are too obvious to be noticed by anyone except you.
You watch your face and you think, it's ugly, not in physical form, but in a way that differs this particular one from others'. You cover your eyes with your hand, and awful warm tears gather up at the corners because you want to cry, but you can't, you force yourself, but still can't and your weak eyes are taken aback by that.
You're tired.
You want to speak with somebody, but you know you can't. That cheap talk each of us - them - can produce, you're not a master of words. You're almost 100% sure you'll say something unnecessary and stupid and the talk will turn out awkwardly.
The awkwardness, that is what can hurt you badly. The impossibility of endearing the force of words and emotions of others, that's what scares you.
Being in this skin for so long, you seem to grow out of it. You think, it looks ugly, not the way it looked before. And maybe, you're right, but the life is an only one.
And a body per person is an only one too.
You shut your eyes, the little mirrors of your soul, that's what one cheap person once said and you remembered, grasped it, thinking it was a good phrase, just because every word was simple and understandable.
You're too old for it, you think. I'm too old for this, you say. But the fact is, you've never actually been grown up for anything, so it's just fair for you only to talk loud and act like you're right.
You're always right. You're never right. In fact, the percent of your rightly made desicions is ten times lesser than that one of wrong ones...

I want to be on a long sea shore with the breeze flowing on my face... And what would you pick - a loneliness or a breeze?

October 2012

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