Laying with my eyes closed, I feel a cool breeze against my skin. I begin hearing the restless waves coming nearer. My hand begins feeling the wet sea sand.
My eyes can barely open, with a small glimpse of the midnight sky with no moon or start in sight. The waves start knocking me, the cold sea water feels relatively reassuring.
My blood begins to drain out into the ocean. I am not even sure if I still have my legs. I start hearing a voice as the ocean waves start crashing over me.
I miss swimming lol
Vines around my neck.
Thorns in my waist.
Seeds in my eyes.
Juice drips from my veins.
Where have I been? I’ve been climbing mountains, not metaphoric mountains, but real ground, rocky, tree and shrub bearing mountains. I’ve been sitting in the middle of forests, listening to what my senses tell me. For nature is all I need.
Why don’t I write anymore?
Let me ask you this, what is the point in writing?
Whatever I write has already been written. There are so many different languages and writings in this world already. So is there really a point in writing, when these words will be redundant and forgotten?
Instead I’m more fascinated by reading these different writings across the world that I can relate to. At times translations can be troublesome but it is worth the knowledge gained.
Maybe if I have something to share with the world that hasn’t already been shared, I’ll write again.
For Eshan ;)
“What's that smell ?“
My eyes open, my ears are ringing and my head is throbbing. It's to dark to see, an unnerving silence can be heard.
“Where am I?” I reach out in front of me, nothing. I reach beside me, touching the floor. It's wet. I retract my hand towards my nose, blood? I sit up, it hurts. I move my wet hand to my abdomen.
I wake up, what a dream I had, I murmur to myself. My girlfriend walks into the bedroom. I told her about the dream. She laughed. I didn't understand what was so funny about it. I looked up, it was dark, she was gone. I felt pain in my abdomen. Now I get the joke.