What is there to say? Nothing really.
Sometimes you come to that point. The point where everything looks a little less colorful and you suddenly realize that you are slipping slowly into the past. the trees take on shades of grey that you had forgotten about, and you know that you have left reality. In the background, you can hear notes floating up into the air. Ella’s voice takes flight over the trees and fills your senses. This is the way it was, but not really the way it was. It’s the way it is in movies and books, but when it was reality, it was its own fantasy. People were not any different. Time was not any different. There was no more romance then than there is now. It’s fake, but still the place you go to in order to escape. It’s fake, but it is more real than anything else you hold on to.
What is there to say? Everything…
The words flow through my head and find solace in my fingers as they fly across the keys. My brain screams and sings and begs for release. I tell myself that if I do not get it out, I will cease to exist. I tell myself that I must move on. I must fight silence. I must yell out at the top of my lungs. “Stop ignoring me! Stop telling me that I am useless and unworthy!” I’m yelling at no one. I’m yelling at everyone. I’m yelling at myself. I notice that the screen in front of me is out of focus. I reach out towards it a moment before I realize that it isn’t the screen, but my eyes. The moisture falling from my face and onto the keyboard makes me pause and take a breath. I stop screaming and turn away.
What is there to say? It has all been said before.
There are times when one must sit motionless. Breathing makes too much noise. It is all an interruption. The clicking of keys would be intolerable. The ineffectual niggling of thoughts causes a buzzing that fills the air and creates a sense unease. It is all too much. Anything that comes out at this point, any bit of consciousness, is more than is necessary. There is nothing that one can say now that has not already been uttered. There is nothing but the old, there is no more new. So, it is time to remain silent and still. It is time to let the world go on, and to feel the fresh air on skin– to know that nothing is the same, but that nothing can be different.