Cold
Why can’t I shut the window? Why can’t I just get up and shut it? Is it because I’m paralyzed by how obvious tragic this situation is, or because I need the numb?
I lay there and my mind tells me I’m cold.
I think about this for a minute, what does it mean to be cold? Well yes of course everybody knows what it’s like to be cold but how do exactly describe the feeling?
It feels like you’re trapped, like you slowly sinking underneath the line. It feels like you cant escape the fact, not that you cant move- your brains been telling you to close the window for the past hour- it’s the fact that you simply can not connect the thoughts with the actions with the feelings.
It feels like there is this inane pressure building up against you as if you were slowly being imploded. It feels like every inch of your skin is dying, slowly losing warmth and feeling and thought and love, like you know nothing can stop this occurrence.
It feels like something or someone is beckoning you to some unknown place of painless dreams. You could leave it all behind it says, and you know its right, you could leave it all behind so easily, so effortlessly.
Like stepping over a puddle, tying shoes, shutting a window. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It feels like your so helpless and fragile that nothing can bring you back now from where ever you are. Like the fact that everything is falling apart around isn’t even as bad as being this cold.
You know you’ve given up by this point, that after the tears that have made your cheeks even more unbearably cold, after the heart has been reestablished in your hand, after you’ve ignored the thought of getting up, it’s over and all you can do is sit there and relish it.
Bask in it more so, in its undying, unending, unswerving constant flow of melancholy pulses of blood under your skin and breath through your mouth. This flow is the only thing that’s kept you up until only-God-knows-what-hour-it-is-now.
I wonder what normal teenagers do in the late hours of a Wednesday night? Do they have best friends spend the night, dragging their mattresses down to sleep in the living room for no apparent reason? Do they stay up late watching old horror movies or cheesy romance, eating junk food? Do they run around in their pajamas, whacking each other with pillows?
A normal teenager at least would probably not be laying here in her underwear; a normal teenager would not have just intentionally harmed her self. A normal teenager would get up and shut the damn window already.
God forbid I be normal.
The window is staying open tonight.
I want to be cold.
