Tiny Plastic Houses

Perfectly Random: A Reflection

Words from the past:
I stand on the edge, looking down over the pavement below. The sky is blue, but gray clouds hover on the horizon and some nearly imperceptible voice whines in the wind. A warning maybe. A sorrowful cry of those who have stood here before me longing for death or life. Longing for direction.

The emptiness surrounds me, drains my soul. I am one alone with my thoughts. They envelope me, smother me, enter me and leave me. With each breath I imbibe their essence. Time passes and soon the emptiness comes too, filling me like a vase. Overflowing like water from a bubbling spring. With each breath, the emptiness permeates my senses, overflows my being, leaves me closer to perfection. Closer to me…
   ~H 2001, random writings from the external HD

Ever been terrified? Scared that your very life was in your own hands or the hands of another and you were powerless to stop events from happening? Maybe you’re dying, crushed in a car. Maybe you’re staring up at a man that, at that moment, wants to hit you so hard that you’ll never leave again. Maybe you’re standing on a wall overlooking the highway, toes over the edge deciding whether to stay or go. Maybe you are told that you have to choose whether you’ll be perfectly safe or your unborn children will live. Your decision, your call. Or that your body’s immune system has been kicked into hyperdrive… that any minute those little white blood cells might bite into just that perfect spot of brain to make you never be the same, never remember, never breathe, never be who you are…

Yes, my terror has a face… and I see her in the mirror every morning when I get up. I look at her in the pictures I take, in the faces of my children, in the eyes of the men who have loved me, in the hearts of those who’ve hated me…

I fear myself.

The real problem is that, try as I might, I can’t escape her. She just keeps coming back… back to that car or that wounded boy. That ledge, the dying children, or the super immune system I have to suppress every week so I can exist. She runs up against walls, searches for the inescapable, yet unattainable… and loves things she can never have, abandoning things that would have her…

She dreams and wishes and hopes… and gives… expecting nothing in return. She gives us away to anybody who’ll have us… heart and soul, only to realize, later, that her heart has been ripped from her body and trampled on by all she trusted… She will stand by every low bastard, giving them a shoulder to cry on, somebody to love them, arms to enfold them until we, left alone by those we sheltered, are abandoned once again.

and she won’t stop.

She will never stop, no matter how bad it hurts me or her… or us.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 20th, 2009 at 8:02 pm. It is filed under Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.