There’s a Time and a Place…

She sat melancholoy staring into the space that was just out of reach, that quiet empty place where at least the tears that were threatening could fall in silence. She wasn’t sure why today was empty, not of actions for she was sure she could find something to do, but today was empty of understanding. She didn’t understand why there was a pool of tears collecting behind her darkened eyes. She didn’t understand why the laughter from earlier sat just out of reach from her for the rest of the day. She didn’t understand why being as happy as she is she could feel this empty. She didn’t understand the fact that she is so full of emotions, and love that she could have empty days.
Something is missing she said to herself in a secret conversation with her psyche. Just for today something is missing. She turned to the window to see the grey sky seem to move in, to suffocate her a little. She had nothing to pass the time, she had no escape like those others who could walk through busy days and collapse content in bed. She missed what she had done before, she had her body, and her mind, and that was it, and sometimes she wanted to bring herself down so badly that she couldn’t help but let the tears form behind her eyes. It wasn’t that she was completely lonely, It wasn’t that she was stuck unloved. It was that she had no personal escape that others found. This explained the quiet empty space she found herself in, but there was nothing she could do, but force the tears down her face, and hope that she could find something to make her alive again.

(She never forgot though, dear audience, that she was loved, and loved back)

She can’t even remember when the walls had gotten so close that she couldn’t breathe any more, restricted all around her so much that she can’t even see the door that she came through.

She’d wondered how concrete could be created, surely that person knew that it would be used to drown those that couldn’t cope, to suffocate the lives of those that just didn’t fit into the small spaces that the world had created for them.

she’s so confused that the writing on the wall doesn’t even seem to be her’s even though the pen in her hand is leaking the same colour onto her own skin that is sliced in thick angles across the whole of the whiteness in front of her.

she can’t find the air to scream.

she can’t find the space to move.

she can’t find the words to ask for saving.