Those days…

Then there are those days…

Those days when time crawls, drawing out slowly like a blade in the blinding light, when things seem rough and unbending, when nothing works. Those days when your insecurities wake up and stretch, yawning and scratching and looking suggestively in your direction. Those days, when you look back at them and feel sorry for them and bring them in from the cold. Those days when you then wrap yourself tightly in them, the doubts, choking on your imagined inadequacies that have become almost waking nightmares. Those days when you wonder why you are here, and whether you deserve to be.

Those days that you feel unloved and unlovable, and more so when you imagine that someone might find out the way you feel, that someone will see your shadows and fear to come near them. Those days when talking is drudgery, feeling is drudgery, when things smell a bit off, when wallowing in pity and sadness is warm, when melancholy colours you rainbows of blue. Those days, when pushing through the pain is death, when your tears make you slip, instead of oiling the wheels of the machines of your days. Those days when the sky is an emptiness you long to drown in, becoming at once nothing and everything, when sleep is an endless whiteness you feel you will never escape.

And then…

Through all that, you realize you are with yourself and you cannot run. So, you turn and embrace yourself, re-imagining what you could be, what you can be, not what you are, because you cannot see yourself, you do not want to. Those days…


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