takowrites...sometimes

I am standing at the precipice of the rest of my life, staring down into that deep dark depth. What awaits me at the bottom? A bed of feathers, or thorns? I am constantly searching for something. A home, peace, joy, hope. To be loved, to be admired, to be safe, to be understood, to be one with you, to be at one with myself. When will I stop trudging through the muddy waters of my life and see that warm inviting house in the distance. When will I go home? Once I had my home, but cruelly evicted I once again have set off on that perilous journey in search of that flighty feeling I will never be able to name.  Is this what life is? Living in constant terror; waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, frightened, clutching all who are dear to me to my chest like a child, less afraid of death than of them leaving me. To find my home, to set my boots at the door, to walk into warmth, to lay down my weary head, to rest.

He is lying with his head in your lap, and you trace little circles on the skin of his forehead, completely entranced by him. He is saying something, but you aren't paying attention, you are completely lost in your own thoughts of how deeply, utterly, totally in love with him you are. Your friends are wary of him, they say you have given up too much for him, you have given up yourself. But to you, what is love without sacrifice? When he gives mischievous eyes to the girl at the shop counter you turn away, reading some magazine headline. That is just who he is, he is outgoing, he is a flirt, you wouldn't get it, you spend more time inside your head than out of it, how can you judge what human interactions look like? Besides, he has said it time and time again, when he brushes his warm hand on your hip, when he makes love to you, he loves  you  and only you. He chose you. You know you will not, cannot find anyone who will love you like this. Commitment scares him, he has trauma,...

I am afraid for myself. Whatever ties I had to the earth have either been slowly unwound or severed off, and I am losing gravity. I am floating away from everything like an undocked boat bobbing silently away from harbor with nobody's notice and the harder I struggle to come back, to place my feet on the ground, the faster I seem to slip away. I am hungry for something but neither food nor drink will satisfy me. This hunger is so severe that I am eating myself, stomach acids burning through me, searching, searching for something that is not there and never will be again. I am stinking with the stench of rot. Something has died and I cannot bury it and so it will follow me around all the days of my life. The ghost of this stinking thing calls to me, haunting me, but every time I get close to it it disappears. The houses and towering buildings are naught but little black distant dots now. If I do not come back, let it be known that I loved, let it be known that I lived. Give my body ...

  When I open my eyes I notice immediately that something is different. Something is wrong. A horrible wailing sound is scratching at my ears from somewhere. I manoeuvre myself into onto my hands and knees, swiveling my head around, and that is when I see them.  My mother, beside herself with tears, shrieking and screaming over something small and bundled in a soiled cloth that she is gripping with a fierce intensity. There is a crowd of people surrounding her and I feel a tinge of embarrassment that they have to witness her in this state of hysteria. I try to call out to her, but my throat is tied shut with barbed wire and every attempt to yell sends its sharp blades digging into my neck, drawing blood.  I edge closer, I am so exhausted, and I notice that for some strange reason I cannot remember, I am covered in a number of wounds and scars. Crawling around the crowd, I finally reach her, look down into the bundle she clutches and let out a bloodcurdling scream. I screa...