The lady walked in the heat thinking
“How full of life she is, while I am full of death. (At least I’m full of something. Imagine if there was nothing, nothing at all). As I walk, the juices of my body rise up and feed the rain.
I wonder if my sweat will rain down again on me, saltless, bloodless. Oh how full of nothing I am, at least I can feel that at least I can tell. My breath hurts a little. I feel like there’s poison in the air, mild poison that gets under your skin and hurts slowly. Mentally. Oh I can’t tell how full of nothing I am. I can’t feel anymore…
I walk up hill and up and up, the black tarmac blurring up, my shoes springing and dragging, gripping and sliding on the tarmac. My bag is full of things like water and paper dragging me on my right- no left no right again- shoulder-, as I think about horrible things.
I drag myself up the stairs to the third floor thinking of horrible things. There are records that are never erased, carelessly. There are places where everything once was still but now they shake as I walk on the third floor looking for the door. Sadness addict, they called me. What the hell did they know about that? It used to be stable and still, that sadness, and a place to escape to but now it pulls me to self destruct. As if the time for mercy is over, as if the time for mercy is gone, so I am nothing as I look for that door, except I am filled with nothing and that’s cuz all of me is lumped together in this sad, stressed, afraid, sorrowful, ball.
Inside that room, beyond that door, being with people. Staring at that orange and pear, wondering when this meeting will end, and then it does. How fast it is to go back down those stairs and across the tarmac, thinking of death and horrible things. Thinking of those who will die young and horrible things. Self-destructive thoughts which I have to push away.
Cuz i have to live y’see.
I refuse to do otherwise. How little any of the world would care! Except that I do..”
So there is a lady in the dark sitting at the bus stop with tears running down her face. There are sounds behind her, muttering and paper-like noises with the occasional burst of music. The sun is setting. It is eerie.
She is feeling so sad and feeling for once, not nothing, but alive, damn alive in that sadness, part of the satisfaction is knowing that no one can see those tears, but that’s only satisfying if there are people who are not to know. That lady, sitting on the bus, suddenly the tears are coming again, unbidden, this time they are more free, more terribly free. No one notices. Life is hard, and she knows it is for everyone , but at that moment, its so hard to see. Staring at the neat-shirted guy with an overly smooth face- did he too feel like a ball of fire and destruction on the inside of his mind?
Did he feel like he was kneeling with every bit of his tears, horrible tears?
She gets off the bus, weird how its in tandem with everyone else, the only time she feels like she’s part of a crowd, as they stand in a row, waiting for the lights to change or the cars to end.
And then she’s walking close to the side hoping no one notices, and hoping that this sadness that makes her feel so alive doesn’t destroy her. Cuz she can’t afford anymore destruction of herself. Arriving home, she stares at the mirror, and forces her eyebrows down and her eyes wide and her face straight, cuz if her eyebrows quirk up like they want to, her tears will show in streaks, down her face. They too will become part of the rain.
It was her 26th birthday.