Curtains.

Rustling leaves on the trees and dead leaves circling around me. It’s September 2nd and raining.

The autumnal sounds are soothing me, and the smell of the wet ground arouses my darkest fantasies in which you keep me warm.

I’ve lost my focus after the wounds caused over there.

The relationship between my mind and heart are incongruous, as though they have no connection and never did.

Although the wounds weren’t too deep, I myself stepped in too deep. There is no oxygen inside and I cannot breathe.

 

I have nothing to say. I cannot channel my thoughts tonight; they just plunge headlong into my chest and guts. My heart doesn’t like the air it produces and blames the head for polluting the environment. It can’t escape my ribs. And my head doesn’t care.

I have nothing to say, just a lot of things to show and I wish you could see, as I cannot put them into words. Don’t make me open my mouth.

 

I had an unnerving dream in which a woman was about to kill a couple. She made them lay on their stomachs and was about to cut the man in half with a butcher’s knife just as my alarm went off. The image just faded into nothing. What would Jung say about that? Would he take me from behind just to give me a taste of what it’s like not knowing whether you can trust the person behind you? What facial expression is he making?

I think I’d rather fall forward on my face than backwards into no one’s arms, although I’d prefer to have an injury at the back of my head than in my face. How tricky things are…

 

It can’t be that hard to trust someone. But it’s true that once you’ve shed too much light on their dark, they’ll get scared of you and run away and all you do is blame yourself for the loss of something valuable.

So you begin to set the bars higher or you simply close the curtains, as if the play was over. The game is over; it was nothing but a joke anyway, a comedy with some good laughs. And you know it will all repeat itself with different puppets, different stories. I just need to make sure to know my texts better next time. In the face of all obscure, I will have my eyes open. And I will not stutter.

 

Just grant me some rest behind the curtains. Who knows, maybe this play will be a joke on me again; this is only if I am the fool again. But I heard someone is auditioning for it already.

 

 

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