Vane C.
03-22-2010, 07:36 PM
It is cold now. The wind blows so hard, the rain whips me.
When I looked out of the window just one minute ago, tears were leaking down its glass; it was raining outside. Now, tears are also running down my cheeks; I regret. When I sat looking out through that window I felt safe, in a way. Not that I could see out; the glass was too misty from my breath. Instead, I saw grey, like some sort of void, cold and unforgiving, but at least not judging. I also saw myself, vague and blurry.
It’s truly weird, how much I feel the cold now – how my senses seem to panic and just take in everything. I am so cold, but I have never felt so good.
I wrote some paper, I don’t know why. I stared at that paper for a long time, and was relieved when I finally managed to write something. Perhaps, to anyone who reads it, it may not matter at all, but to me, right now, it’s important. In some way, I guess, it’s like they say; it relieves you to tell about your burdens.
But when I finally began writing, it wasn’t confession that I documented. I always thought I’d stocked up for a quite grand finale, all my life, you know, I’ve been preparing for some sort of great culmen. But this is an anti-climax.
It’s odd, this clarity I am experiencing right now. Back in the room, when I looked at my reflection in that misty window, although blurred and dim and featureless as it was, I saw myself clearer than I had ever done before. Every feature stood out thousandfold. It’s not only that which I saw, but what I felt too. The breaths I made (and make) are so heavy… not difficult, but I feel each and every one of them; they’re unique. My blue eyes stared at black ones in that window of truth; they were not eyes anymore, but gateways to my soul, and that which showed within was black, tortured and wasted. My expression was grim, and even when I mustered a lying smile nothing changed in my face. My lips did not move. Perhaps I saw the reflection of my true self?
It’s so cold.
Not the wind and the rain itself, but the realization is… there, in the pits I have dug out, in the black and dark within me. It’s never been there before, that blackness. I can see it within me, so threatening and out-of-place. It shouldn’t be there, that blackness, because it is a disease. Like cancer. But I brought it on myself and I can’t get rid of it.
At some point during the evening I remember I cracked the question about God… is there one? But why would he choose me, anyway? So rotten and fouled on the inside, there can’t really be any hope for that.
I think my time draws nearer, now. It all happens so slowly, so unreal. But then again, what happened just a while ago happened so fast.
And well, I am not going to justify it. I won’t explain, there is no need, really. I feel a conclusiveness the like of which I have never experienced before. There’s no need to explain. I’m gonna be a man about it, I’ve done what I’ve done. I’d have thought it would vex me that even if I explained no one would understand, but that really doesn’t matter now, I think. It feels entirely irrelevant what others think now.
My body aches for release, it screams and pulls its shackles. The soul I saw through my eyes wants out; it does not belong here anymore. Its blackened and pitiful being can not be related to me anymore.
It all came down to this.
I am at the pinnacle of my life; the top. Not that it’s a good place, what I mean is that there’s nowhere to go from here, but down. And down is not really an option now. Not after what I’ve done.
The coldness is gone now, and I don’t feel the wind in my face anylonger.
Beneath me the asphalt finally seems to draw nearer. I would’ve thought it would be quick but it wasn’t. But I think it’s over now.
Yep, the time is here.
When I looked out of the window just one minute ago, tears were leaking down its glass; it was raining outside. Now, tears are also running down my cheeks; I regret. When I sat looking out through that window I felt safe, in a way. Not that I could see out; the glass was too misty from my breath. Instead, I saw grey, like some sort of void, cold and unforgiving, but at least not judging. I also saw myself, vague and blurry.
It’s truly weird, how much I feel the cold now – how my senses seem to panic and just take in everything. I am so cold, but I have never felt so good.
I wrote some paper, I don’t know why. I stared at that paper for a long time, and was relieved when I finally managed to write something. Perhaps, to anyone who reads it, it may not matter at all, but to me, right now, it’s important. In some way, I guess, it’s like they say; it relieves you to tell about your burdens.
But when I finally began writing, it wasn’t confession that I documented. I always thought I’d stocked up for a quite grand finale, all my life, you know, I’ve been preparing for some sort of great culmen. But this is an anti-climax.
It’s odd, this clarity I am experiencing right now. Back in the room, when I looked at my reflection in that misty window, although blurred and dim and featureless as it was, I saw myself clearer than I had ever done before. Every feature stood out thousandfold. It’s not only that which I saw, but what I felt too. The breaths I made (and make) are so heavy… not difficult, but I feel each and every one of them; they’re unique. My blue eyes stared at black ones in that window of truth; they were not eyes anymore, but gateways to my soul, and that which showed within was black, tortured and wasted. My expression was grim, and even when I mustered a lying smile nothing changed in my face. My lips did not move. Perhaps I saw the reflection of my true self?
It’s so cold.
Not the wind and the rain itself, but the realization is… there, in the pits I have dug out, in the black and dark within me. It’s never been there before, that blackness. I can see it within me, so threatening and out-of-place. It shouldn’t be there, that blackness, because it is a disease. Like cancer. But I brought it on myself and I can’t get rid of it.
At some point during the evening I remember I cracked the question about God… is there one? But why would he choose me, anyway? So rotten and fouled on the inside, there can’t really be any hope for that.
I think my time draws nearer, now. It all happens so slowly, so unreal. But then again, what happened just a while ago happened so fast.
And well, I am not going to justify it. I won’t explain, there is no need, really. I feel a conclusiveness the like of which I have never experienced before. There’s no need to explain. I’m gonna be a man about it, I’ve done what I’ve done. I’d have thought it would vex me that even if I explained no one would understand, but that really doesn’t matter now, I think. It feels entirely irrelevant what others think now.
My body aches for release, it screams and pulls its shackles. The soul I saw through my eyes wants out; it does not belong here anymore. Its blackened and pitiful being can not be related to me anymore.
It all came down to this.
I am at the pinnacle of my life; the top. Not that it’s a good place, what I mean is that there’s nowhere to go from here, but down. And down is not really an option now. Not after what I’ve done.
The coldness is gone now, and I don’t feel the wind in my face anylonger.
Beneath me the asphalt finally seems to draw nearer. I would’ve thought it would be quick but it wasn’t. But I think it’s over now.
Yep, the time is here.