Numbness and coffee

I’m not the sweet frappe girl, I’m the black coffee one.While sipping on the bitter fluid, I kept patting the table with my nails. A hallow sound echoed from the table through my head and thoughts were going back and forward in my head, until it felt almost painful. I was wondering why there aren’t more easier-to-guess things in life. Let’s take two examples: people and books. People write the books, but that book makes the person who he is. Right?

People are more complex, you ‘d say. I’d personally count at any hour in night or day more complex books than people I know-and without even trying hard. You read them both, sometime in your life, some leave a bitter taste or an open ending, others are just a waste of time. At least books don’t fuck up your life. They might cause suicide if you’re mentally unstable, but that’s your problem.

I remember that walk in the cold I took after dark. Although my feet hurt like hell and I couldn’t feel my hands anymore, it somehow did me well, it was something that relaxed me, made me focus better. And it was then when I felt the numbness starting to unravel over me. It doesn’t frighten me whatsoever, it’s better than suffering, anyway.

I met enough people in my life that managed to make me see that as different as they may seem, they all have a common root. Humanity is a deep, venomous pit.

I remember those moments of silence. My hands trembling from too much coffee, my head leaning to my last safe corner, my eyes counting dots or lines on the wall, my right leg moving up and down, constantly. Imagination always was a nice refuge, but it’s the reflexion through reality that might get you in the end. Cards down and masks off, and nothing left to save you. And somewhere, a scream in my soul- I always knew that any world, no matter how well hidden, may be torn apart without any remorse. I’ve been a clear witness of others’ selfishness while I threw, one by one, the shattered pieces of my heart. Isn’t it enough?

People look into your eyes and down into your soul without actually caring about the consequence of them messing up. And I’m sick of finding a reason for everything I do, and giving explanations that anyway will be mistaken for ignorance. Those cold shivers when you get acquainted with a stare send though your whole body a certain feeling. Is that good or bad? You figure it out, I’m too busy with my own little world.

‘Brake me, shake me, hate me, take me over’- I’ve been broken, shaken, hated and took over too many times and for others it’s still not enough, and never will be. Hear that? It’s the sound of no one caring. My head in my hands, sitting on a leather chair in a wide room. My last moments passing through my mind, with the constant question: ’where did I go wrong this time?’-was that it?

And I remember the day after that one. It snowed heavily. When I caught some flakes with my bare hands, I could swear I felt I was melting.

That’s odd, my black coffees usually were drunk hot.

I’ve had three nightmares last night, one after another. I don’t remember the last too well, the second involved murders all around me, things I couldn’t stop, but the worse was when I dreamed I was sleeping in my own bed, with ghosts and demons running around me. I couldn’t get up, or make a phone call-the phone itself felt too heavy to be lifted. This scenario player over and over until I finally woke up and looked at my phone, then lifted it. Twice.

”I know you’d take me back

But still I feign confusion

I couldn’t be your friend

My world was to unstable

You might have seen the end

But you were never able

To keep me breathing

As the water rises up again

Before I slip away”

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