Cyclical

by HelluvaGirl

I have come to know those tides now. They rise. Time and again. Each time in a different, more and more subdued way. Only a vibration of a deep underground explosion now. I went on after that day. Persistently, as I do. Not assured I was right in flashing the axe and forcing myself to be smart. I never completely own that role, to be frank; not any more. After a week or two, I turned around and noticed I was healing. Moving on, so to speak. And I was glad. That's it, I said. That's it. I never believed I could do it, and there I was. Waking up. Falling sound asleep. But the tide... Nature's got its thing. Don't reach out, don't say a word to me. Don't help me slip. I don't want to be down there again. One word and I'll slip. Don't. And then... When I was a kid, I often had nightmares. Within a dream, at the point of not being able to bear it any longer, I would somehow remember it was but a dream. Still asleep, I would then lift my hands, reach my eyes and tear them open. And I would wake up with my fingers on the eyelids. That's what I do. How come now I wake up to the same dream time and again? Where is my way out of this matrix? Those tides, they come. God, do they come. I sometimes think... Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmail
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