What more needs to be sacrificed? How much more can I take before everything is swallowed by a black hole? When is the time to pay the price? Because there always is, I would know that quite well. I occasionally get reminded of this, falling ill for a few days at a time, having my energy drained slowly, not being able to sleep, not being able to eat. Blue lips, pale skin and dark eyes. Hands shaking as I chain-smoke another cigarette and drink my third cup of coffee in less than an hour. I call it the Balkan breakfast.
The light blinks without a sound in my room while I have my head in my hands, not wanting to move, not being able to. A muscle twitches in my left cheek and I just scratch at my forehead trying not to think about it. The demons laugh in the corridor at my moment of weakness and confusion. I am not living, I am not even surviving, I am just like a yarn ball that is slowly unraveling. One day it will all end abruptly, without an alarm.
“My God, my God, who am I watching? How many am I? Who is I? What is this gap between me and myself?”
If the demons win, can I finally go to sleep? A lightbulb above me flickers and dies.
If I touch you with my fingertips, will I taint you forever? Will I ruin you? Will my never-ending rot spread inside of you and take over? Do I ruin everything, everyone I touch? I want to reach out, to touch you, I crave it, this painstakingly beautiful and creature that always makes me feel at home. Someone that shines bright in the mundane. I want to feel the warmth, the fire at the tips of my fingers, the warmth surrounding me in the embrace that I rarely experience. I want to nestle myself in between your ribs and make a home there, sprout myself in your lungs that you could always breathe me in.
But all I do is look away, clench my fist and let my fingernails dig deep into my skin to forget. Now is not the time.
Piercing eyes look at me, sometimes I feel that they look through me but I put on a façade that crumbles from time to time, say that I’m fine and get up.
As I do, my hands can’t stop shaking. Never the right time, never the right place. I stand up and pretend all is fine but the sorrow in my eyes makes it obvious that I am going through it.
I want to be anywhere but here. I don’t know where, nothing changes, nothing makes sense for the longest time and I don’t know how long will I keep going. It’s been months. It’s been days, it’s been hours. And all I do is just stare at how life goes on because I never imagined to live to this age. And now I just have no idea of what I’m doing.
I am always in my head. I am always a mess. I am a handful, I don’t know who would love me. So I do what I do best and I run away as far as possible, I abandon myself. I cease to exist, a version of me dies.
“Do you ever feel like some things are inevitable?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” she trailed off.
Sometimes I feel more than I think and sometimes I think more than I feel.