The Cold Silence

Cold Silence

I like to be cold, sitting outside at a green picnic table, so peaceful, silent, deep, heavy, unfamiliar silence.

A silence like this is to be kept, it's like it's holding you in an icy smooth bubble, keeping you safe and cold, letting the goosebumps graze above your skin, like a hug.

Like a hug, I've never gotten before, like a hug from your mother, a hug from my mother is when she puts food on the table, when she pays the rent and puts a roof over my head, when she tells me to be thankful because I have a lot of things some people would die for, as I sit here with the little light that's shining, bounces off my wet cold face and onto the pile of tears falling in a row.

This is an incomparable silence, a very cold silence, a biting silence that would make you want to wrap yourself up and just sleep, sleep like you never had before, to ease the heaviness in your head, to ease the feeling of pain, feeling neglected, feeling alone.

It's like the silence is formed in the meaning of love. I feel it wrapped around me like cotton candy, can I stay like this?

Forever alone, being loved, sitting, can everything stops and never continue?

That feeling of not wanting to continue is how he felt when he would go home and sit on his bed staring out the window, looking at nothing, feeling nothing.

I do the same, but I have a stomach of feelings, building up into a feast.

This is how we connected, staring at each other, staring at nothing, feeling each other's presence, it's like the only thing that kept us going, both of us living off each other.

Then he changed, his skin was less pale, his face was brighter, even his hair was shiny, his short sleeves grew into long sleeves, and his curtains, his curtains were always closed.

How did this happen?

It was like one day we were in this together and the next day was apart, like a banana leaving its peeling, like the leaves falling from a tree, we were like two knights standing alone.

well at least I thought he was a knight, but he just wasn't strong enough, it was like he had holes in his armor, holes he made himself, holes like little slits after each one losing more and more protection.

For the first time in a long time, I see his curtains open and I sit and stare as he's sitting on his bed with his head in his hands and the redness in his eyes making spider webs, spring from every corner, I see the gloss run down his face like a raindrop, and he stands and his fingers move towards the hems of his shirt, as he pulls it off I can see his armor rising out, his damage armor. He sits his shirt on his bed and he looks, he looks straight into my eyes and his head falls, I look down and see his armor, I see his flawed, impaired armor that's in need of fixing, I see the slits all down his arms, all the way to his delicate blue lines.

I look at him through my glossy eyes and put my hand on the window, as he does the same, and we sit and stare, as we hear the silence, and feel the bubble form around us, we feel each other emotions, emotions that I thought he never had, but I was wrong, we all like to hear the silence.

Note: My whole high school experience wasn't an experience at all. I blanked out most of it but one thing that I will always remember Is the lil chicken that I "created" in my history class making a children's book about some random ass law, it became my thing to put everywhere and it sorta symbolized me being alive...

I'm gonna get that ugly ass chicken tattooed and it's gonna be my ;

How was/is your high school experience? How's your mental health?