Post by juliana on May 19, 2013 19:50:43 GMT -5
He appears not only to darken my physical doorway of my home or wherever I happen to be residing at the moment of his arrival, but also in my mental doorway; not my eyes, ears, but my dreams and thoughts.
He darkens areas that wish to be bright and he brightens areas that wish to remain dark. There is such unwillingness on my part that I don't even try to make him leave for fear of interacting with him too much, or of giving him too much thought. If I ignore him, maybe he'll go away.
He never fully goes away. He's always there. I'll be looking away from him for a few moments, maybe a couple of days, and I'll sort of forget about him. It's a good feeling to not think about him for a while, but I always happen to glance back in his direction. I always expect him, yet that moment of rediscovery is always startling. If I don't glance over at him and he feels as if I've been ignoring him for too long, he'll whisper at me from across the room, or sometimes he'll even sneak up on me and whisper in my ear, "Done."
I believe he knows that I hate him, even though I've never said a word to him. I know that he knows how I feel about him, but does he know that I know that he knows? And if I knew that, would he know that I know that he knows that I know? What do I know? I know he likes that I dislike him. I know that he likes to dislike me. I don't like disliking him, I just don't like his existence.
He is not even a physical entity. He is just the nether feeling of being happy nor sad. He is the feeling on being indifferent when you would so very much like to feel anything. He is the feeling of nothing, of loneliness that doesn't make you long for company. He is the overwhelming feeling of nothing in a world of ever changing, moving, rotating, morphing, feeling somethings. He is the feeling of everyone else feeling without you. He is the lack of feeling. The feeling of nothing is a lack of feeling. His whisper to regain my attention is the deeper lack of feeling that comes after a long bout of feeling. He is not emotional exhaustion, as some insist he is, he is the done. When he enters, I am done with feeling, and I am as little as a physical entity as he is. I am the same as him.
I appear not only to darken the physical doorway of your home, but also in your mental doorway; not your eyes, ears, but your dreams and thoughts. I know what you think of me, and I know that you know that I know, even though you've never spoken to me. I enjoy your disliking me. I like to dislike you. I like that you don't even like to dislike me. I drain the feeling from you, but replace it with nothing else. You feel nothing. We feel nothing. We are done.
Wow, it feels really good to just write something random based on a general idea. I haven't gotten to do that in quite a while. I like being able to start writing, make it up as I go, and then instinctively know when it's done. I like not having to plan what I write.
He darkens areas that wish to be bright and he brightens areas that wish to remain dark. There is such unwillingness on my part that I don't even try to make him leave for fear of interacting with him too much, or of giving him too much thought. If I ignore him, maybe he'll go away.
He never fully goes away. He's always there. I'll be looking away from him for a few moments, maybe a couple of days, and I'll sort of forget about him. It's a good feeling to not think about him for a while, but I always happen to glance back in his direction. I always expect him, yet that moment of rediscovery is always startling. If I don't glance over at him and he feels as if I've been ignoring him for too long, he'll whisper at me from across the room, or sometimes he'll even sneak up on me and whisper in my ear, "Done."
I believe he knows that I hate him, even though I've never said a word to him. I know that he knows how I feel about him, but does he know that I know that he knows? And if I knew that, would he know that I know that he knows that I know? What do I know? I know he likes that I dislike him. I know that he likes to dislike me. I don't like disliking him, I just don't like his existence.
He is not even a physical entity. He is just the nether feeling of being happy nor sad. He is the feeling on being indifferent when you would so very much like to feel anything. He is the feeling of nothing, of loneliness that doesn't make you long for company. He is the overwhelming feeling of nothing in a world of ever changing, moving, rotating, morphing, feeling somethings. He is the feeling of everyone else feeling without you. He is the lack of feeling. The feeling of nothing is a lack of feeling. His whisper to regain my attention is the deeper lack of feeling that comes after a long bout of feeling. He is not emotional exhaustion, as some insist he is, he is the done. When he enters, I am done with feeling, and I am as little as a physical entity as he is. I am the same as him.
I appear not only to darken the physical doorway of your home, but also in your mental doorway; not your eyes, ears, but your dreams and thoughts. I know what you think of me, and I know that you know that I know, even though you've never spoken to me. I enjoy your disliking me. I like to dislike you. I like that you don't even like to dislike me. I drain the feeling from you, but replace it with nothing else. You feel nothing. We feel nothing. We are done.
Wow, it feels really good to just write something random based on a general idea. I haven't gotten to do that in quite a while. I like being able to start writing, make it up as I go, and then instinctively know when it's done. I like not having to plan what I write.