"Thunder only happens when it's raining."
I cried myself awake, legs warm and sweating from a dream of a big wave. It was a water wave washing away happiness and joy from the only people I know and love. There was so much hate in this drowned world and no hope left. People grabbed on to you and dragged you into the swelling, black ocean. I got my feet wet. There's a heater below and a fan bringing up winds around us, and the Sun slowly rises on tearing faces. I don't sleep anymore; I don't know rest. I cannot celebrate life anymore than I can make it quiet down. My head is a swinging thing, vibrating and giving in to its own weight. I cried myself back to sleep.
I'm never going back again to your quarters, where you feel for the walls and the candle wax drips and burns my wrist. Take what you want from me, I am left alone, I may learn no lessons. I disobey out of my disability and they believe taking everything from me will make me better. This is not the way I expected things to go. I didn't think this'd come back. I thought I was done with it, finished, etc. They tell me those things are important to keep track of, that they are the only reason I live. Well, I agree. Thank you for noticing; I am starting to burn and my ashes are floating away into the cold, white January sky. Give me a shovel--a sharp one--; I am digging into rock bottom's rock bottom. There might be something down there, just let me look. I am losing oxygen? Honey, I've been cold and lifeless for as long as I can remember. There ain't no oxidizing these lungs, these drops of blood. The end? No, I have a feeling this is not the end. Short breaths until--Ah, yes. Sleep again. Close my eyes for me, take me away. Sweetheart, I am hungry.
The installation...it's gone. Its halo has been snapped into several pieces; it is useless, not what we remember it to be. Allow me to get to the dreams. But one more thought: A sad song may not fill my lungs in these dark, final hours.
I dreamt about two men trying to kill each other; it was cinematic and suspenseful. It was snowy and we were in England. That was cool. I dreamt of big waves enveloping the entire world. I dreamt of the end. I dreamt of Christmas gifts and throwing them away. I dreamt of useless things and the pitiful longevity of the end of childhood. I dreamt of the suspense of the consequences of my neglect. My neglect of who I am and who you are. My neglect of life and all of my time. My neglect of my priorities and responsibilities. But then again, who is really counting my failures? Oh yes, I am. But then again, don't we all? Ah yes, we certainly do, until they weigh too heavily on us.
You are relieved of your duty to care for me. 'Tis a lost cause. I'm sure this will lift a burden off of your heart. I'll have you know I'm alright. All, as they say, is right.
A portly, bearded man with greying hair stood on the apple crate and waited for the audience to regain its composure.
"One last thought...", he announced to the crowd.
"Yeah, what is it, then?", bellowed a spectator.
A pause. The man took a breath.
"When you look into a man's eyes...and you see a growing ocean, a rising tide...do not tisk-tisk him for being weak. Do not slap upon his wrist for acting a child. Do not measure his tears in volume to estimate his melancholy. Many tears go unseen, and many men bleed inside, from their hearts. Love him for feeling, and love him for his woe."
The crowd stood still.
"I ask of you people to look upon a fellow and love him for surviving...surviving the muddy swamps, dense forests, treacherous mountains, sparse and lonely fields...of existence."
The man procured a small dagger from his fishing vest, to the shock of the people surrounding him. Some looked away, some gasped, some looked on. He took a quick breath and pulled the blade from the hilt, breaking the knife in two. He held the pieces together and dropped them to the marble floor. They clinked and broke into several more pieces. The audience watched intently for his next word.
"Friends...nothing stops this train. We are all wading through these murky ponds and we are ALL crawling on the side of precarious, icy mountaintops. Let us not forget that. A good day to you all."
He stepped down and walked into a shadowed doorway. The crowd dispersed.
SEASONS OF GRACE.
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