my personal essays

entry twelve

i'm trying to figure out if i'm asleep or blind. have i gone to the point of no return where i was blind, but has also now lost the ability to feel the wrenches in my heart and the darkness eating my soul? why is it in so many recurring moments: my tongue is held so taught i forgot my native language, and my brain is so far north it is numb? i do not notice my organs on the ground, askew, only the poison that mixed in with my blood which flowed from my chest. then when i met you, when i witnessed your beautiful existence; that's when my tongue became twisted. you twisted other things to, because of your eye-changing existence. when i start to stumble and talk like this i know i've become a fish hooked onto your rod. less in faith, then all together, faithless to him, them, her, you, me. i tried to explain, but i need to stop trying or just do it right. for some odd reason i have a tendency to stack up the problems and worries like jenga blocks of past, present, and be. i squeeze them all down to fit in my pocket. it's only when you bump into me, that they fall out. sweat on my face and an aura of something, more or so someone, watching me. i know i should stop thinking like this, but my brain won't listen. my thoughts quicken like the snow in winter. although, i want to bloom like the cherry blossoms and roses on the first day of spring. i'll just be. no pilling thoughts of the past, present, or soon to be, just a garden where all that matters is that everyone is breathing.