It’s raining when I get the call, coffee held in one hand, some melody floating through the air. This scene is familiar, comforting, but at the same time intense and frightening. I remember not breathing for a moment, just a moment. Time was still, my heart silent.
Rain then resumed it’s beating against the foggy windows of the kitchen I stood in. Water drizzled down in dizzying paths and I sincerely believed I could hear the rushing sound of it. The lack of breathing catches up to me and I gasp, coughing, choking, feeling wetness fall down my face. I look up dumbly, thinking perhaps there is a leak in the ceiling, but I remember I live on the second floor of a three floored apartment complex and this water is hot.
It’s then I realize I am crying and that I’ve fallen into myself, collapsing onto the unforgiving ground beneath me. It’s a moment, a frightening one, a lonely one, a painful one. My only company being the newly spilled coffee making it’s way towards me on the apparently uneven floor.
This moment passes, like all others. I am in the same apartment, same kitchen, same cup in my hand. The phone, thankfully, is no where to be seen. Music is floating through the air, as my habit of silencing silence takes control. It is classical music, full of piano and violins and sadness. The tune is not a remake or even composed of any artist, it is something my mind has come up with and composed, just for me. Just me.
I look to my left, slightly curious as to why I’ve let my kitchen stay so white for so long. It reminds me of things I didn’t care to remember. The table catches my eye, white wood and glass top. Delicate and sturdy, telling me I’m missing my support. There are two plates, two cups, two forks, a whole setting for two. Only one plate, one cup, one fork…was used. The other set, untouched, sitting beautifully, mockingly staring back at me. I fill with undeniable rage and swing my arm out, everything crashing to the ground. Falling, crashing, breaking…like me. This is a moment, too. I blink and calm and wish…That all moments would end. The coffee touches my bare feet.
The moments continue, and it’s the same setting. I’m more tired than before. My hair falls around my face, waving and curling, having a mind of it’s own. I am pale, my eyes are dull, and I am alone still. My chapped lips move, cracking, bleeding, hurting…Spilling words to nothing and no one, the air being the only thing to absorb my wasted breaths. Something about wishing and hoping and loving and dying and the pain of it all.
I move, muscles protesting. I sit down onto the floor, tracing unknown patterns with my fingers, pretending I’m growing roses for someone. The white tiles are surprisingly clean. Bleached and scrubbed by my own hands. The blisters are between my fingers to show of it. I think of how silly it is of me to forget.
I hum and hum, trying to drive away the silence, even though the music is louder than ever. Blaring and shaking and hitting high notes of pure sorrow. But it won’t go away, the silence. It’s louder than the music, hurting my ears, cutting through my mind. I scream and scream. I scream until my throat is raw and my chest hurts.
The music cuts and the silence laughs in my face. I remind myself how to breathe. Licking my lips, I stand, almost falling. My energy is worn, my soul mostly gone. I look to my right and there is a picture, one picture…Hanging on a plain wall. It is of a man, faceless, but something stirs within me when I see him and life rewinds and I feel the crushing force of everything once again. Another moment lost to the oceans of the heart ache that I am drowning in. The coffee, though, sits on the table.
Life throws something new my way, the setting is different. I’m in my bedroom, which is all grey. Grey walls, windows, bed, blankets, desk, pictures…I am laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I’ve been doing this for hours.
Breathe in, breathe out.
There is no music, no coffee, no phone, no pictures of the man. I am comfortable, rested. Pain still swims through my chest, but it’s less stabbing, more numbing. The silence is suffocating, but that’s what I’m waiting for. To be smothered out of existence. My breathing slows and with it my eyes close. I feel the corner of my lips tug upwards. Last breath. The moments are over and gone, just like this one. The silence stays, but the pain doesn’t.
That’s when I bolt up from my bed, eyes wide, hand to chest, breathing and gasping and wheezing. I look around. I am in my bedroom of my house where I live with my family. My room is green, not grey, my home is a house full of people, not a cold, empty, white apartment on the second floor of a three floor complex.
There are voices and noises and the TV going. Silence is unable to find it’s way. I remember something a woman had said on a cheesy Disney movie and I hoped that it wasn’t reality…that, “dreams really do come true.”
It’s a little bit past sun-down, but that’s okay. We didn’t get into the concert we wanted, I blame him, but like I said…It’s okay.
Nails painted red, and a heart painted over clear for all to see the wounds inflicted over the years. None of the cuts are deep, but they follow each other so closely that they scar largely, and make it hard for the blood to pump in a warm succession. It’s alright, though, I think…Because I have coffee to heat me from the inside out, and I have the sunshine outside to tan my constant pale features. Never mind that the coffee is actually cold, and the sun isn’t shining through on this cloudy day.