And Life Continues

I run my fingers through my hair and before I know it I grab fistfuls into my hand, and tug. Not caring how many strands come out. I'm sitting outside on a balcony that overlooks a man-made lake and gaze at the pictures in his wallet. The pictures that somehow found their way to exclude me. My left hand reaches for the cigarrettes on the small table next to me. I grab one and use my lighter that is in the shape of a gun. I place the cigarrette between my lips and cover the end so the wind won't blow out the fire. The stars are out tonight. Amazingly bright. To bright for my mood, and the moon is an iridescent crescent spill of silver.

 

It's one of those nights a dismal teen pours out her innermost thoughts to a complacent listener. One of those nights a lover finds out that in all reality they really are not loved, and Sarah Mclachlin's Angel plays in the background as you cry yourself to sleep, because they coudn't love you well enough to stay with you. It's one of those night when you lose some one. Finding out after sixteen years, you were sharing your bed with a complete stranger and what you thought you knew, you actually didn't know at all.

 

And you cover your sadness by going out everynight and drinking liquor. You drink so much you would think it would dull the pain, but instead  it just makes you numb enough to fall asleep, and then you realize in the morning you are back to point A again, and it doesn't even feel like you slept at all. So the process begins again. And again. And again.

 

Yeah, one of those nights I think. Depression is like this sad song on repeat you can't turn off, because the song is your life. And your so addicted to the song. If you choose to turn it off people will look at you funny, because for some bizarre reason you are supposed to enjoy this song. This song that wont get out of your mind, because it keeps devouring your soul.

 

You think someone would care enough to save you. Touch you and tell you everything will be okay, while you try to fall asleep on that dark, soundless night. An unintrusive night... Why can't the universe see you need to be disturbed.

 

You can hear the rush of cars, the sound is distinct as they cruise along the pavement, and you wish you were it. The car. Feeling the inertia, the tug that you are going somewhere. Something like a whirlpool.

 

Need that. That insane drug that everybody else seems to be taking that makes them continue on. Makes those cars roar on. Makes you believe you matter. You have to be insane to be proud of this. You have to be insane to enjoy this... Either that or a child. Sweet naive child.

 

Reviews

[Cedric D. Jr.]

"...and the moon is an iridescent crescent spill of silver." After reading this line, I remained in awe for the rest of the time I spent reading this. Surprisingly enough, a word addict like myself has never heard the word "iridescent" before and is enamored with a source outside of the dictionary that feeds him such ethereal substance, but beyond that, I enjoy most a well written, poetic prose. "And Life Continues" is a beautifully profound, flawless, exhibition of the art of writing after having mastered it.

[Markymark]

I agree with Cedric. I love prose......This is wonderfully written...polished smooth. Though I hate the subject matter of being forsaken and the feeling of being forlorn in the piece.....One feels like he/she is the writer. There's a lot of heart in the piece.

Great Write,

Markymark

[Rick Puetter]

Dear Kandice,

I have to second "The Purple Kazoo's" sentiments. This is your best piece. It is extremely powerful. It is one of those pieces in which the author takes out all of the stops and just opens the flood-gates of emotion. Why does this always seem to happen when profound saddens fills the soul? Yet you seem to be able to step above these emotions and look down. That is a wonderful and insightful power. Here is my sad summary of life: "life just is". Yes we wish it were otherwise. We always wish good things for ourselves. We want a kind universe and for our lives to go along happily, and we are very disappointed when we realize the universe (and unfortunately sometimes loved ones) doesn't really care about our deepest wants and desires. Happiness is self-created. Meaning (sort of the same thing) is self-created.

Congratulations on this very fine piece. Yes, Kudos are in order. Keep up the good work. People long for and need insightful pieces like this to lift them through life.

Kindest regards,

Rick

[The Purple Kazoo]

i wouldn't hesitate at all to say that this is, in my opinion, your best piece. the only correction i would like to make is in the 3rd-to-last paragraph, you have "some1." i would change this to "someone" so it doesn't distract from the enormity and emotion of the piece. up til that word, i was entranced, and even though i have never had one of those nights, i knew exactly what it felt like. then i was jolted out of my epiphany by "some1." i love the imagery that somehow suggests a metaphor in the first two paragraphs. especially the first paragraph, it is a great opening to a great piece.
MAJOR KUDOS!!!