Sometimes, We Feel Lost


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I hover in the darkness, comfortable in my inactivity. It's hard to tell if my eyes are open or closed, the blackness does not change with my blinks. Sometimes, a faint light will shine in the distance, but it is always so far, out of reach.

I can control my body, but action merely makes me ask why I bother. There has been no reaction from the darkness around me as I punch blindly, and my flailing fists have never found a target. It's easier to stay still.

The lights that thrum softly into my periphery excite me slightly, but they escape when I attempt to study them. Some lights persevere through my curiosity, yet I've learnt not to get too attached to them. They always leave, each one.

My ears catch faint whispers, languages foreign and alien prod themselves into my mind. I cannot make sense of the words. Sometimes I reach for them, the noises in the dark, sometimes they give me hope that I can escape this void. Sometimes the voices coincide with the lights, and the excitement enthralls me. I thrash and call out and beg to get closer to the sensory overload, but it disappears just the same as before. It's easier to stay still, hoping is hopeless.

I can't say when I stopped crying, but I know that even tears could not rouse feeling from me. I prefer to remain motionless.

I wonder if anyone can see me here, floating in the deep. I wonder if they have tried to help me. I wonder if I could ever escape this place, if only I could understand the lights, understand the language that comes infrequently to my mind.

Maybe if I keep moving my body, I'll find myself face to face with the light. Maybe if I broke my stasis, broke my fetal softness, I would find a way out of here.

I punch and flail and scream and contort and cry... tears flow free again, real tears on my real face. I can feel, I must feel, I must break the numbness. I must fight against the abyssal black, fight against this apathetic prison.

The lights flicker in the distance.

Are they closer now? Even slightly?

There's too much space separating us. Too much space keeping me firmly planted in the depths.

They sparkle, whether for me or indiscriminately, I do not know.

My thrashing has stopped again, and the surrounding has returned to black. 

Maybe next time.


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