I want quiet. I want peace. I want to hear my heart in my head, feel each beat in my ear and temple and neck and chest. I want to lie so still that time slows around me and I forget to remember. Days should be shorter, time should be kinder, life should be more than just brushing aside each sunrise and sunset, and I should be happier than this. I should be glad that the semester is done, I should be glad that I have time on my hands that will not be spent worrying about numbers and letters, I should be glad to have some semblance of chance back.
But I’m not. Instead, I feel hollow. I see the rain and I scowl, I see the sunshine and I scoff. I want company but hate people, need contact but despise the effort it takes. I want beer. I want to drink, and get drunk, and maybe then something will snap into place, maybe then I’ll figure something out that a sober mind would never even dream of. I’m lightheaded but my brain hurts with the millions of possibilities that I. Just. Can’t. Actualise. And for thousands of hours at a time I look at a book, and sigh, and wish I could find it in me to open covers and flip through pages with the same fervour as the child from five years ago.
I yearn for the past, look to the future, and constantly forget the present.
I want solitude.
I want the loneliness that used to let me breathe. I want to feel my fingers cross pages of paper. I want to make things again. I want to feel proud of the things I do, to not feel empty at the sight of a finished story, to not feel the need to throw it away as soon as I put in that final dot.
I want to be alone again.