I've always been grounded in my own self, comfortable in my own space, most happy when left alone.
But the heat of the past weeks have been getting to me, and I can barely prevent myself from cringing at the touch of my own skin, unwelcoming cellophane-papery wrapping, clinging to my insides, the once-abundantly-filled insides, that now slowly eke out and trickle away...
I'm beginning to feel like an empty hole.
and trickling away with everything else--my abilities, my hobbies and fascinations, my love for thinking, just musing, and dreaming, my aspirations, inter alia--is the gravity that ties me to the knowledge that I'm still me.
How much can you take away from a person before he ceases to be his original self?
How many ounces of dreams, how many millimetres of quirks, how many milliseconds of memories? How much more before he becomes an empty core?
These days I cease to think.
I take ages to articulate. Each. single. word.
My mind, it feels like it's running it's last lap. Each time it is used it screams NO!
And each breath feels like a breath taken in a pool of plaster.
I'm tired.
I really am.