During these cold, wet days I am shaken and full of internal debris. I walk in a straight line looking straight through passing bodies with the most stoic face I have ever possessed. The air I breathe is drowning me and the views of everything around me feel to be symmetrically upside down. I am in a waking dream where my surroundings are familiar, yet everything is out of place, leaving me to feel that I am not where I once was nor where I had hoped to be. Anxious and hunched with tension, even my body has become an enemy.
The feeling of isolation weighs heavy and I think myself to be trapped in a small box filled with many items and images, none of which equate.
I know that here, I make a left and there I can cut across the street - something is telling me to do that, and I am confused as to how I know.
Everything is surreal, except that it is not. This is real and this is awful, nothing beautiful. There is no rescue; no amount of hours that will wake me up.
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