Roots

There’s a delivery package on my table that I haven’t had the heart to open yet. It’s half past five and I’m still dressed in my black sweater and black jeans. I’m tired enough to hang my feet a few centimeters above the floor with the black socks still hugging them as I’ve stretched my body diagonally on the bed but not tired enough to not remove the black watch that lies gracefully on the study table with a white table clock, monochrome calendar and, a black pencil stand that has nothing but blue pens and black, and one bright pink pencil. My stomach’s rumbling and shooting me sharp punches to remind me of the two days I haven’t visited the dining table. But I’m trying to focus on the playlist playing into my ears that I was humming to on my way back but can’t seem to pay attention to now. My head’s spinning and I close my eyes shut; maybe it’ll help. But I’m sucked into a spiraling downfall and I don’t know if I should open my eyes or not. My feet are getting choked in the embrace and I chose to free them from the bondage. And now I’m sitting crossed legged on the mosaic floor with a rolled up black sock in my left hand, choked throat and welled up eyes.

It’s been a while since they’ve visited. It’s been a while since they’ve made their presence felt. They’re shape shifters with a voice that resonates mine, just laced with pain. They’re the fragments of my past that’s been fed into the roots of my present; acting like the wall along which the creeper bends and grows. They know not of the future and speak in the tongue of the past, impregnating my mind with fears that extinguish the warmth of my soul. They’re demons that tear me apart even though they are made of me. And as I’ve moved on from cotton frocks to pencil skirts, they’ve made their surprise visits, running a bulldozer over years of foundation. Their heart pumps pain from the past as it breaths out fear of repetition.

And as I’m sitting here, on the mosaic floor with a rolled up black sock in my left hand – choked throat and welled up eyes – I try remembering Β the lullaby my heart would hum as theirs slowly fill it with a void. I try remembering the lullaby with words of faith and new beginnings.

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