Beyond Numb

Settling into my spot...

I visit this place often

More often than I may realize

It was comfortable

How long would I do this for...

was this my forever vice

This olive green chair facing north west

This ”book” and mechanical pencil ...

I hadn’t realized I was staring out the library window as if my eyes were frozen on all the fucking nothing.

I broke my gaze...

to find I had been staring at a stranger whom looked puzzled at me... he just smiled at me... I smiled back quickly and opened my book... and we both went back to our own realities

His reality passed my mind for a moment.... was he like me... did he see something in my stare... a familiar feeling... the kind you want to talk to the person for hours and it ends in a new friend with a long hug and a little insight... showing a little love to a fellow broken soul if you will.

Or was it the kind of stare you avoid like a plague... the kind that takes your energy away when they open up to you... The kind you can’t help... maybe even the kinda stare that whatever is behind it scares you to ask.

I got caught up in the what if’s and could be’s....

my mind often wanders to that place

I had to make myself look somewhat sane for sitting here motionless. Only to stare and sometimes catch eyes with a stranger and only switch pages when questionable inquiring eyes met mine.

So I opened the book and pretended to read... you see I knew this book without looking at it...

I could ramble the plot the twist and the ever so fucked up turn of events off like they were etched in my mind.

They were...

this book was empty... not one word on any page....

this was the story of my life...

one I had a hard time telling

One that I didn’t know how to handle the outcome of yet...

one left me beyond numb for the time being..

I just come here to stare into space...

it’s quite here...

People often just pass by me in their own solitude....

I’d like to keep it that way...

I’m not ready to get out of this chair...

The words I could fill this book with only brought discomfort and an uncertainty engulfed me when I tried to press my mechanical pencil to the page...

Yet...

Somehow I felt that the sitting among books and silence would help me to one day fill this empty book.

Someday I’ll talk about it....

one day I’ll get it all of my chest and be free from this olive green chair...

when I make it there... and it pours out onto these pages... when my heart and stare have broken free from this torment....

I’m gonna walk in this damn library and buy this chair and burn this olive green mother fucker to the ground.... with a copy of my finished book in the seat...

I can’t burn the memories

But I can burn a copy of them in a worn down chair that felt the warmth of my pain for to many years.....

The flames would be more than an adequate celebration for a finally open and healing heart.... or at least a good start.

_Frey Ley