for thoughts and other useless things

not everybody has a story. some stories are just fabricated in their minds, pulled together from thoughts and memories magnetically until they form a condensed sphere like a liquid disco ball, spinning rapidly like unmodeled clay on a table top, changing shape every time there’s even the slightest touch.

for a second, she accidentally presses too hard, and her finger indents itself into the sphere, pulling a deep cut across the surface. startled, she retracts her hand from the spinning memories that have been gathered to form a background, unwilling to allow the action to set precedent to any kind of future.

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she steps out from the quiet darkness towards the glow that’s so familiar yet suddenly so far. the surrounding concrete grumbles as it blocks the wind and holds on to the escaping light within, it’s cracks passing on a series of chinese whispers about her fate.

the tunnel is cold, but her skin doesn’t reflect the temperature of her soul. the flask, now discarded, catches the moonlight as it lays between the crushed stones and rolled steel, only moments away from the last imprint of her recently purchased shoes.

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she almost reached out today. in the midst of mulling over all the complications, all her anxieties, all her loneliness, she opened a window. she stared at the window, it’s pale nothingness showing her the blanks in their correspondence, in their history and in their story.

she dared herself to do it. to reach into the window, all the way through to the other side. to create a beginning, any kind of beginning, that may result in anything else but silence. and for a second she almost did. the caret started moving. forwards, slowly, then backwards at quadruple the speed.

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the ascent of the elevator makes her heart beat faster even though she can barely feel a thing. it drops a little in her chest, but she stands still as if nothing is affecting her. 

unlike most, she feels comforted by the lack of open space. she enjoys corners and confined spaces and hates open fields and vast emptyness. for what is there to fear when you can see everything around you? when you can sense any approach, any movement, any danger. when you know exactly what’s coming, and exactly how to react.

the unknown is infinitely worse.

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