Another morning-rise of a day comes, and the clocks ring and the watches tick and the sounds come back into the world. The world which is frozen; no birds sing its praise. The week reaches its arbitrary middle, but it is not arbitrary at all: before this day, two days have passed; after this day, two more will come.
The light has not yet come into this room, It can’t, it is not allowed. But the cold is here, it creeps in, uninvited, and stays until driven away. It came early last night, and now reigns. The elbows feel it. The hands and their fingers do not, yet, but it will come to them. The feet remain hidden, and that is important for the moment.
Soon, I shall have to venture into the world, and see its bitterness for myself. The hard, uncaring, merciless bitterness. I am not afraid of it, but I do not seek it. Not on this morning, or any morning. Maybe one day I shall wrap myself in it, and embrace it to be embraced in return, but it will not be on a morning.
The stream dries out. Maybe I should find another… Another stream from the same source? Ha! But it is not the source that is dry; it only pauses to take a breath. The source cannot dry out, though it may withhold its offerings for a time. To one and all, or just some. Such is its nature. A cursed thing, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t wish for a flow unending, unceasing, unbroken? And yet, as with all the wishes, one should be careful. Most careful, indeed. Caveats are always necessary, though pointlessly limited they seem when made. But at this moment, I wish for no interruptions. Nothing to stem the flow, ever.
It is not to be, though. Even now, my eyes unfocus, and my hand stops, becoming glazed with different desires. To sleep, to disconnect. To forget about the world, and the cold slowly reaching the hands (but not the feet, not yet), and bury myself back into the night’s warmth. I know it must end, but I wish to delay it nonetheless.
But it is not allowed. The words must pour out, for a time yet, and then the world will enter fully.
All words have their place. Knowing when and what that place is is the trick. To dismiss any for a prejudice or personal dislike is folly, for one robs oneself od the ability to express the full spectrum of meaning. Useless and undesirable a word may seem, but when its time comes, one will regret having dismissed it.
I could not possibly be hearing a mosquito. I could not possibly.