Journey to a Memoir
Destabilizing. That’s what they call it when you start to go mad. Teetering between reality and psychosis.
Who is crying?
She said “Ok we’ve taken a look around; now let’s go back.”
I hear her, but she seems far away. Or rather I am far away. Where is this place? I hear sobbing.
Who is crying?
My body sees. My eyes do not. I am deafened by blackness.
Who is crying?
She became aware of heat on her shoulder. Fearfully, she turned her head to see. Her heart sank. I thought that was you. Her head grew heavy, sinking toward her chest, collapsing under the weight of anguish.
She howled, “I put that away!”
Startled at the volume of her own voice, she lifted her chin slightly.
The smell of the cooling September evening taunted her. “And yet you are afraid,” snickered a mocking voice from the trees. “Child, you are simply wearing a costume for them. I know the truth.”
She stood, immobile. Unsure. Only her eyes moved, darting rapidly.
Am I?
A slight warmth tickling my toes. If I close my eyes I can hear it whispering.
Deep inhale draws a shimmer. I know my eyes are smiling.
Elusive, ethereal, evanescent.
I snuggle into the clouds. Safe, warm, and blissful.
Too soon this will end.
