dim voices

lake-2606217_1920I don’t know why I haven’t imploded lately. Seems overdue. Maybe I have and just haven’t noticed yet. Everything seems normal enough. The sun comes up, as expected. Bills arrive in the mail daily. People still kill each other and some love each other, tho too much of the former and not enough of the latter. Maybe I have tho, maybe I’ve gone over the crumbling-soil edge and no one else has noticed either, and that does make it easier. There’ll be fewer questions I can’t answer. There isn’t any way to explain it, really, but some people other than me know what it’s like, a few at least. They don’t talk about it much, most not at all. It’s when you can’t see any way out– so, you go further in, deeper, to where the day’s shadows grow long, touching upon places in the darkness where nothing is ever seen, where nothing has ever been seen, where cold things exist, huffing invisible steam through wide nostrils, never knowing the warmth of sunshine, nor the solace of redemption. And you can hear the rest of the world, for a while. A few dim voices calling in– calling your name, from somewhere back there, voices that shake with trepidation. Further in, they’ll be quieted again. And it’s better they don’t know that this place exists, that this place has its own gravity, pulling up and down and sideways and in directions undefined; and it’s better I don’t answer when called.

I’d a feeling a few might find something familiar in this, even if they never comment. We’re never quite alone in what we feel. #human

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