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A Reminder

An excerpt written close to midnight.

By Mari Vic Published 2 years ago 3 min read
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A Reminder
Photo by dominik hofbauer on Unsplash

I’m tired of doing the things I feel will make me feel something other than nothing, but don’t. I want to go back to the time where nothing meant anything and made me happy all the same.

I want the embrace of my mother’s arms and the head rubs from my father; the look of recognition and acknowledgement, the notice that I too, am here, and I am seen.

I don’t know what it’s like to be seen, I don’t know what it’s like to be felt, not lately, not recently, not in far too many years. Some days, I forget that I am looking at the wall beside me, and that I am not part of it too. I can feel the hairs of my arms and legs stand to meet the microscopic fibers that pull me to the wall in that gravitational, inevitable, endless force. This is a force I am too weak to fight, I never stood a chance, not against its nature, not against my own.

I have an understanding that my body has taken a leave of absence from me. No, it must be the other way around, I have taken a leave of absence from it. I nourish it, only because it makes me so; hunger is something I can’t ignore, but what about the other things? Things like my reflection, the pictures of me, the glances, the looks, the eyes. That stuff, I try to ignore as much as I can. It's more of a neglect, as I mentioned, an absence of me. My mind is always one step ahead, or one step behind, never right, but also, never wrong. It lingers in the center of a hollow skull, tiny, and lost. It is a terrible humbling, the reminder of my groundedness to this ordinary, physical self.

I look at trees as a reminder of beauty, and isolation. They too, remain in silence, but dare to plummet the soil with endless roots. They ground themselves, they survive that way. Why is it, then, that my groundedness makes me feel so trapped? One moment, I wish to be one thing, then another, and then the next, I wish to be nothing at all. I don’t want perception, but I also crave it; a signal, an honest, intricate description of everything about me that can be seen and felt and touched.

I stand a lighthouse shining a dim light to sea, one desperate, in a frantic search amongst the darkened waves of an endless and tempting night. It tempts of a sweetness I also fear, it drips like honey and coats my skin, and I am so still I can’t move. The silence of it haunts me, that of loneliness. With all the fish in the sea, I still can’t understand any of them, and they can’t understand me. We don’t hear each other, and we fear so much that we don’t know. We part ways and never meet again, it is easier that way.

My legs ache and I clench on the inside, another reminder of mortality, another reminder of me. I can’t stand straight for too long, I waver and tramble over hard rocks and uneven ground. The trees continue to lead their reign amongst the Earth they were made to conquer, and I crawl, helpless at their mercy. Then I am reminded that everything else can conquer, everything and everyone can be and come and go, but I can only watch.

I don’t know how long I’ve been watching, or waiting. I’m not entirely sure what I was waiting for in the first place, or if I was waiting at all. There isn’t a calling, there isn’t a voice, only the rustle of fallen leaves in the wind. They trail past me and wave their goodbye as they begin another journey. I can feel tears on my face, and I think the dawn approaches, kissing my skin like the dew on the grass below me. This, another reminder, that night will come again.

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About the Creator

Mari Vic

Mari Vic (pen name) resides in California where she earned an associates degree in Film and Electronic Media. She has worked a screenwriting internship with One Productions. Mari writes themes merging nature and human sentiment.

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