Five weeks, and I counted.
There are more than 1001 words I can use to describe how I feel and 1001 ways I can express it, yet I stayed quiet. I’m numbed by the notion that no words will do my feelings justice.
My numbed tongue has inhibited my ability to express myself in ways that goes beyond you. I’ve grown tired of writing from passion and of speaking from the heart. Words fail me.
I’ve caved back in to my shell to shelter myself from the hurt of the world, but I know the acid rain will erode the barrier I put up against the world and I’ll have to get going.
Yet, I am still paralysed by the thought that the earth might shatter below me before my shell does. The embrace of the earth can be oh so bittersweet when you’re six feet under, but I’ve experienced love and I want to experience as many as I can before I go — I’m still in the dangerous pursuit of hope and home.
Best foot first, just in case.
“Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of 30 and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!”
— Mr Perlman from Call Me By Your Name.
But right now, I’m in my shell.
Holding myself in my own embrace until I no longer can’t.
Waiting until I can trust the world again.
Hoping to love again,
“I loved against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragements that could be. Once for all; I loved nonetheless because I knew it, and it had no more influence in restraining me.”
— Pip in Dickens’ Great Expectations