#numbed

[nicole-c0ventry]

From The Chaos of Letting Go

[mylitlsecrets]

It’s not like that I want your attention

I need it

[insaneeternal]

How can nothing feel so heavy?

[allthesmallthingshere]

I can't put anything into words. My feelings numbed, heart frozen. I don't know if I still miss you, or if I still want you. Everything seems to be on standby.

-sillyjenny

[thericedemon]

a feeling I can’t name

All I want is to walk away, no, run away from this mundane facade. I want to tear myself away from all the societal expectations and the terribly uninteresting state of things. I want to touch nature, I want to burn, I want to taste magic so strong that I rip this form apart and take flight. I want to run with the wolves. I want to fly with the phoenixes. I want to roar with the dragons. I want to swim with the mermaids. I want to dance with the demons. I don’t want to be trapped in this skin, this impeccable self, where conformity is the bitter medicine I’ve been conditioned to take. take me higher, take me deeper, take me further than I’ve ever been so I can finally feel like myself. Isn’t it funny how I strip down to the bare bones and still can’t find myself?

I walk like one of them, talk like one of them, insert myself into their midst, but I am not one of them. It’s so painfully obvious to no one but me. The reality of it all is crushing and uplifting at the same time. I am me, but I am not me, and nobody else can see that I’m slowly hollowing out inside. I search and search, find and find, dwell in the spaces between my reality and their reality. For now it will do, I’m giddy with this temporary whole, but one day it shall not be enough. The day is coming when I will fall off the world.

I walk through the crowds, I see things they don’t. I think things they don’t. I feel things they don’t. I understand it and it understands me, but that’s it. I don’t have a name for it that anybody else can understand, so I have to settle for living with it. Sometimes I feel trapped in this form, but other times I feel relieved that I even have a form to call my own.

Occupying liminal space, I am matter, I matter, lilting to the quiet hum of a life that beckons from inside and outside and all directions. I don’t seek with a ravaging passion, nor do I bend to the ways of the world, but I am there. I exist and I feel, I am and I be. I am lonely, but I am surrounded. Am I a living paradox? Yet sometimes I don’t feel completely alive.

Sometimes I dream, of climbing up to the top of a sea cliff and communing with the stars. I dream of growing wings so wide that they berth the earth, and taking off into a quiet tangle of sunset-drizzled clouds. I dream of sitting in an empty laundromat, coins feeding the machines that don’t work and fresh laundry that smells like hope. I dream of riding a bicycle through the fog, the wet dimpling my skin so that when I stare into the puddles on the freshly-rained floor, I don’t see anything else but myself. I dream of running through sterility, the white lights steady as I hurtle through the endless maze of corridors. I dream of being liminal, of achieving liminality.

And it hurts. But I don’t feel anything. It sits inside me, wandering out of this caved out soul to feed off the liminal bits that punctuate a life. A life that is mine nonetheless, and I’m proud to call it so.

Maybe I am liminal.

[mindriots]

Lol.

[mylitlsecrets]