An Air Of Mystery

I'd be lying if I said panic hadn't set in by the fifth day.

The fifth day of silence and discomfort.

The fifth day of the sun casting auburn highlights across the clouds.

The cold is setting in, with an uneasy breeze.

~

It's important I document this. Though it's slightly uncomfortable and my heart aches. It is important.

It's important because it's a lesson. And (I hope) I have learnt from it.

What a strange situation to arise at this time in my life.

By now, I am aware of the warning signs. 

A lack of creativity. A sense of abandonment. 

And becoming isolated in a little bubble. And often, I forget bubbles are fragile.

It's fantastic to shelter myself in metaphors. It's brilliant to hide in mysterious words and quiet thoughts.

It comes at a detriment, to the safety of my bubble.

To never specify saves me, my dignity and my sanity.

(Though I'm not too sure what's left of the three).

If you asked me how I knew, I'd say, "I'm lucky to see my neurotic side, even through the greyest of clouds. And I'm lucky to recognise the stabbing pain that sprints through my veins at the first sight of trouble."

And if you read this as I do, and am doing at this moment, you've most likely realised there is no conclusion.

There seems to be no middle or end either.

That's because it doesn't end.

My thoughts don't end. My small epiphanies (usually found whilst pursuing the supermarket) rarely cease.

And my learning, well, that will always run faster than I can.

❊