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Cinder and Smoke.

  • Writer: ohalmostthere
    ohalmostthere
  • Jun 2, 2019
  • 3 min read

Updated: Sep 25, 2020


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Melancholy is addictive - or is it just me? I have always considered myself to be a person with simple thoughts but I may have been lying to myself. As complex are my emotions, my thoughts are equally as confounding, to me! The mind was once a hurricane and I thought it had steadily transformed to being a wind - although ghastly sometimes, other times pacific, and that maybe I had something to do with it - a quelling of sorts. A victory maybe? Hush! I silenced myself lest the mind hears and restores itself to its reversible precarious former self. Lo and behold, I have been deceived. My apprehensions are now seeing the light of day or more aptly the darkness of the night, my mind has tricked me into believing that I have the control but the reality is vice-versa. If I were to take a deep dive in search of answers, I fear I might get lost amidst the depths of darkness. My heart can't stop the beats, now pacing heavily and impatiently towards every second with a thud even louder than the previous, as I dreadfully take a peak into the jungle of doom. The grass that I skittishly tread upon is causing enough anxiety for me to just leave everything and run away. But this unrelenting and unquenchable desire to peek behind the ominous curtain, is causing me to walk deeper into the arms of these twisted vines. Am I still the shadow of my former self who is lost amidst the complexity of her neural network, provoked by every tiny (negative) stimulus that comes her way, still unable to distinguish the ones she should concern herself with? I used to feel the prick of a needle as intensely as I did a log falling on my feet. Those days were as painful as the nights. The sun rose in the East everyday and set in the West everyday infallibly, and it sometimes took days for one Sun to set yet sometimes it happened in seconds. Time was an illusion and space was just the corner of my bed in my dank room. Locked away, I punished myself and cursed myself to be transfixed in the foetal position, head tucked away between my hands, my knees almost touching my elbows. It is a vision that one's spirit rises above just to capture. Such a reference might be needed in the future, to knock some perspective into the fickle brain when it tries to be too happy and content. Yes of course you might need these and some confusing thoughts and emotions of the past all mixed in a bowl, ready to be served to you, incase suddenly everything is fine for a few days in a row, she says. You don't deserve that respite, that inner peace, you need to be reminded, you need to be kept in control, tamed in case you grow a wild mane that flows in the wind a bit too carefreely, she repeats. You need to be contained inside, I agree. Maybe you should occassionally be doused in the Petri dish that grows the infectious cultures of emptiness, loss, betrayal, abandonment, distorted reality, desperation, tenacity for disaster, allure of what once was, and all these sprinkled with false hope, I add. This enchanting melancholy draped beautifully in agonizing but strangely comforting familiarity draws you in. Just a while ago, you were ever so lightly stepping on the shrubbery of this lost and ruinous forest with trepedition, and now look at you running amok beneath the tall dark woods, sprinting as if you have found your home. This familiar darkness, this comforting solitude, this mystifying authenticity or is it fantasy? - you know not anymore, is exquisite. You are suddenly reminded of the posture from your past in that dark space, it nestling your pain - was it actually just a space or was it also as warm as a cocoon? Maybe this confusion and crippling melancholy is what you have been longing for all this while because you are beguiled by despondence and you wilfully woo destruction. This is where will always be your true home. You begin to question - is it a bit too sad or is it blissful to think that you atleast have something that you can call home? And yet more deeper you dive as you think, does this mean you can't ever take comfort in your ashes and that you will always remain a cinder and keep burning treacherously and intermittently forever, never anticipating the next devastating burn? Also, is it you or is it I?

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