Special Pockets of the World.

I'll be over where the fences meet, in that corner where it's safe. Just for awhile, till my feet are straight and my head is clear and I'm not weightless anymore. I hate those moments, those floating times, when life isn't solid and the air is full of the everything that's tossed around by the storm that came out of the blameless ground. You kinda hate the ground for f*****g you over like that. The storms come hard and I can weather them best when I carve out a little time to spend in a special pocket of the world. 

The harbor is one and I don't know why. I don't have the answers I just go there and cry. In public it's true, but it's ok cause I know how to hide. I hide in plain sight and nobody knows they've passed hopelessness, as they walk around their sunshiney lives. But for all I know they're hiding too. You can't assume they're doing better than you. So I go and I sit on the steps just below the place where people walk, to and fro. I look and I act in such a way that nobody knows what's inside my brain. I don't expect answers and I don't expect peace, and I get what I came for, I get nothing. The nothing is perfect. It's bliss compared to the chaos of people and love. Sometimes real life is just push and f**k. Life swings between yearning and turning away. Yearning for a specific love, in a specific way. And the turning away is from everybody and everything. Oh please just leave me alone for today. Both of you, both of you. I need my special place. 

So I run and I'm desperate. I don't drive well. I get there and I gather my mind and my cell. I run through all the people and decide, most times, that alone would be better for me this time. Once I erase everyone from my mind, I jam my toque over my ears and keep my eyes on the ground, right in front of me, oh hello again. You're where the storm came from in the first place, way back when. I'm angry and silent and not in the mood, I walk like I own the place and dare anyone to try, to say how's it going or even hi. It's stupid I know, but I welcome the change, from crying and sad to a f*****g freight train. Get out of my way, this is my place. I go and I sit and I think of a way. Then I am better, or at least ok. Thank you special place. I've always liked pockets and this special pocket of the world, makes me sane.

Reviews

[Chris]

sigh... I want to say "...does it? Really?" but then I'd sigh again.

You "touch" real ...well, and I've found that THAT can be dangerous because when you get heard you realize you aren't nearly as silent as you imagined...

[Enigma Monster]

Why sigh? We all need a reprieve sometimes, don't we?
I don't mind being heard by capable listeners.

[Chris]

The shock when a person realizes they hadn't hidden at all can be ...awakening.