Imagine a dim room by candle light, the walls are grey and bare. There are papers covering the floor and in the left corner there is a desk and arm chair. To the right of that there is a groggy window veiled in grime with a latch which doesn't close fully, which lets a sharp draft in. It overlooks a hill going down the the beach And there is where this happens, everyday for 6 months:
I cradled my cup for warmth, though what was left of it. Sitting
there for hours at candle light, just staring into space and not wanting to acknowledge
reality. What was wrong with me? Just gazing into space and letting the world
go by. I could hear the clock ticking away and away, whilst my mind riddled
with emotions; it would feel relief, then pain, indecent and then enlightened.
I just let it happen, for days; just sitting there whilst my tea turned stone
cold and the candle burnt down to its wick. Hunger would relieve my pain; the
feeling of complete emptiness crowed within; it was comforting.
Sometimes I would close my eyes and imagine that Day; the breaking of the waves, salt on my lips, wind rushing through my hair and was free as a bird. But now that all seems as distant memory, as silence prevails. The cold air seeps through from the fault of the latch, my hands were cracked and my hair had grown dry. I would just lie curled up in the chair and stay there until my back raged with cramp and my legs turned numb.
I loved the calmness of the sea, now I resent it. I wish I longed for the striking waves and salty spray, I wished I longed for light instead of darkness and I wish I longed for life instead of death. But I am just here and in to deep to ever get out. Everyday is a cycle of deprivation; I despair with my lifeless self, but there is nothing I can do.
Sometimes I would close my eyes and imagine that Day; the breaking of the waves, salt on my lips, wind rushing through my hair and was free as a bird. But now that all seems as distant memory, as silence prevails. The cold air seeps through from the fault of the latch, my hands were cracked and my hair had grown dry. I would just lie curled up in the chair and stay there until my back raged with cramp and my legs turned numb.
I loved the calmness of the sea, now I resent it. I wish I longed for the striking waves and salty spray, I wished I longed for light instead of darkness and I wish I longed for life instead of death. But I am just here and in to deep to ever get out. Everyday is a cycle of deprivation; I despair with my lifeless self, but there is nothing I can do.
Thanks for reading
Holly
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