• bethinkful 50w


    The deadness eventually set in, like it always did. She felt fully and enormously, empathetic to a paralyzing degree, like the time she saw the bird survive the motion of a car, only to fly off to certainly die later, alone, in pain.

    Well, cars are our wings, aren't they...? Justifiable, surely...? She held back a wave of nausea.

    The silence of emotions had to be her coping mechanism. But she believed and doubted simultaneously. Some of the deadness had gone on so long that she was left with serious doubts about her own compassion. Who was she, if not compassionate? How could she live with herself?

    Oh no, more of those thoughts... The kind that crept in when ordinary consciousness overwhelmed her and she didn't like the world or what she was doing in it. She screamed so loud she drowned out her thoughts. It didn't feel good at all.

    The Chinese needles helped her regain some balance, but even more than that - her breath, fresh air. Breathe...breathe. Gratitude that she still could. What happens in a life, from youthful imagining to overwhelming deadness? How could a soul burn so bright and dim so hard?

    It felt good to write. To liven up her grief again. She was human after all. Reviving was something she was just starting to experience...

    Who knows which way the path will go.