Darkness engulfs me. Night makes me part of it.
The moon hides; a specter behind the November clouds.
The curtain falls, swishing in the dead silence of the night. I creep back down, under my covers – reds and creams… whites and roses… and I wonder… if I should go into the world of sleep, where thoughts don’t clash over each other, where there can be no reality to face. Yet I know I cannot – I’ve had far more than my dose already.
I lie on my back, staring at the mahogany crossings on the white ceiling wondering if dead silence truly has a rhythm… like the one that I can hear right now…
In your world, silence has no rhythm; silence… is just silence, right?
In your world, I used to be a writer. I used to be a poet.
I used to be so many things.
Then… then I lost myself.
Life’s a funny thing. You know that there are worse things in the world that could probably never happen to you. But then…when something unfortunate happens on your life – you forget those others less fortunate than you. You act as though the world’s ended. As though everything’s crashing down on you… as though you’re the unluckiest being in the whole entire world.
Or perhaps, that’s just me…
I was a dreamer once. The faeries, princes, princesses and happily ever after kind of dreamer. The knights, superheroes and true love kind of dreamer.
Then I lost myself.
How do you look at someone and tell what kind of person they are?
How do you talk to someone, how do you listen and judge what kind of characters they possess?
How do you see someone’s actions and tell where their heart truly lies?
How do you look at a world, where everyone dons a coat of paint everyday hiding their real selves and find truth in it?
How do you see something that doesn’t exist?
I was a believer of people once. I used to believe that there was good in everyone, just waiting to be channeled or tapped into. Waiting for someone to find.
I used to believe that people would wash off their coats of paint if they knew they wouldn’t be judged. I used to believe that truth…meant freedom…for everyone…as it did for me…
But then…I lost myself.
So I turn away. And walk out of your world. I shut that gateway, and lock it tight. So that your world can never intrude in mine. So that I shall never lose myself.
Because, in your world, words don’t mean a thing. Because there, verses don’t rhyme with reason.
Because dreams belong to children.
Because… good people are rare…
Because hope is a better friend to despair than is to fruition.
And because…truth rarely exists…
The screech of a tire, the honking of a horn…breaks the rising and falling rhythm of the dead silence in my ears.
In my world, I am a writer. I am a poet. I am a dreamer. I am a believer.
Because in my world, silence has a rhythm.
