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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1628522-Trapped
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by Woolf Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Fiction · Inspirational · #1628522
An observation of senses.
Trapped in the eye

of the needle

closing this heart

slowly



shallow breath

a nameless death

to be unknown



and gone

just gone



————————————



Imagine it is chilly at night and you’re outside. You can see your breath forming desperate clouds, fleeting before you had the chance to look at them closely to remember them and what they are made of. You can’t grasp them or catch them. They move you, they are essential to you. They are Nature’s painting of who you are. There and then gone.



One step forward, the sound of gravel echoing in your ears. You notice your senses seem to have intensified. Suddenly, you hear every sound around you and it frightens you. Suddenly, you see the silhouet of the trees on the horizon and they seem to come closer. Your world seems to be closing in on you, growing smaller and smaller. You can almost feel how the sky is descending, a dark blanket with one goal: to suffocate you in its endlessness.



You feel the tiny hairs on your fingers. The glasses on your nose are a burden too heavy for you to bear. You feel the tissue of your clothes against your skin. You smell the fire within. You taste the teeth surrounding your tongue, you taste your palate. You don’t feel like yourself anymore. You transformed and smile at the irony of it. What has been a wish for so long seems to have come true and now, you don’t know what to do with it. What to think of it. Who says you’re not you anymore? You think you aren’t, because you feel different. You feel too much.



You turn around and look at the house behind you. The house where you have made that wish. Where you have eaten and dreamt and made homework and slept and simply grew up in. Strangely enough, you feel no desire to return there ever again. A place filled with memories, filled to the top of the roof. A house almost bursting out of its joints, so filled with your childhood and your youth. Your parents are in there, the people who made you happen. You aren’t sure if you should be thankful to them.



Another step, even more sounds. The steps follow each other quickly now, your gaze still resting upon the house. You remove yourself from yourself to become that other person. You try not to be scared, you suppress the fear like you would push something in a box so that it would close. You pant, the experience is exhausting you. You turn around again and run, run to the trees and the loud grass and the sounds are deafening you but then again, so is the silence. You almost fall over your own feet, you want to be somewhere else, in another life, in another place and walk around in another way, all you want is to be different from who you are. The exploding senses are the first step.



You feel the cold of the night falling upon you, freezing you to your bones and you won’t do anything about that because it’s what you deserve.



You are hardly aware that you are removing yourself from happiness, warmth, comfort and love into an unknown world, an unknown world, an unknown person, an unknown death.



When you are far enough and out of reach, under new city lights that have never fallen upon you before, it finally comes. The only thing you’ve been longing for. The guilt, the remorse. It’s like the clouds your breath form when it’s cold. It’s gone before you felt it thoroughly, there and then it has disappeared in the night, like the silhouet of a stranger. You can’t grasp it or catch it, you can’t bottle it to prove that you are human. To prove that maybe, you didn’t want to run this far from who you are, but you had to and you’re sorry.



Imagine that.
© Copyright 2009 Woolf (woolf at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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