Imagination in my hands

Between 2.30 am and 4.30 am I felt it was all over. Between me and myself. The pain was unbearable. I was talking aloud, talking to the pain…asking it why it existed. I could almost feel it mocking me and pose a counter-query: Why do you exist?

For two hours things flashed before me…no, not my life, but the weird feeling that I was not alone. The spot where it hurt I just beat it. There was relief.

24 hours later, it felt like nothing like that had ever occurred. I am sitting here, though I ought not to, but I am and I can…

The phone is on silent mode. Even if I have nothing to say does it mean I have nothing to listen to? Is it weird logic? Those who I know and those who I know a little and those who call and reach the voice mail, they don’t know what to do. So they keep quiet. Some send messages saying, “Hibernating again?”

I owe people email replies and some on the blog…will do so…maybe tomorrow…maybe when pain and silence come together in an embrace and get burned and I rise from those ashes.

All this sounds dramatic. I like drama. I like to put my hand out and when there is nothing to hold just move it like a fan. Heat imagines a gentle breeze. I surrender to the imagination.