Exhausted. I slumped into the pillows of my couch. Letting out a deep sigh, I pressed myself deeper into them – as if looking for warmth or comfort. Not that it helped – it didn’t. Not at all. My heartbeat was normal although I didn’t feel like it.
Straigth forward, unfocused, not looking at anything in particular, I stared. I simply stared. My head feels overhelmed at completely empty at the same time. Not that I would consider that even possible….
Tired in more than one way, I let my glance wander around my room. My blinding green walls, my absolutely cramped bookshelf, my large dresser, my small night stand with the plain white lamp on top of it, my commode, my desk…. my desk… Something on my desk seemed to be calling for me. I locked my stare with the object of my unconscious interest, not yet being able to name it….
I continued to stare at it. Not even noticing what I am doing – more like a ghost – I slowly and carefully got up from the couch moved towards my desk while being in some awkward kind of trance,… standing in front of it, keeping my glance locked at the notebook, then stretched my arms out, softly caresing its hard-backed form, and then grabbing it,… holding it gently but tightly in my arms – almost like a mother would hold her newborn. Lovingly.
Stll having too many thoughts trapped in the back of my mind, I grabbed a pencil, a pen and a rubber – everything with my left hand, because I still had my notebook in my right hand and I
rejected – surely and sincerely – to loosen my grip on it.
Never would I have let it go. My notebook. My listener. My friend. My sibling. My thoughts. My writings. My place to be understood and accepted. Anywhere and anytime…. No. Never.
I brushed softly along the hard covering of the backside. Coloured in a bland rose, thoroughly divided into squares decorated with white flowers each having five petals, with purple lines and similar but pruple flowers which were connecting the separate lines with one each other.
A smile crossed my face. I turned my notebook around then let my eyes take in the naive appearance I have once chosen to guard my inner voice’s words.
A light brown teddy was looking innocently at me. Cheeks blushed slightly pink, the nose was purple and glimmering with silver twinkle powder. As did the two pause holding onto the blue flower pot decorated with a yellow, wavy line which was accompanied by twinkling rose circles. Tilted over the left ear, the bear wore a lei made of purple, white, rose and a single blue flower – each sparkling with the very same twinkle powder. At the bottom of the frontside I saw some grass the bucket was apparatly standing on. The background – I would have said sky – was a washy white and yellow, interrupted with dark yellow lines, pink circles and lilac and rose spots.
Taking in a deep breath, I took a minute to listen my heart beating as it disturbed the silence engulfing me. I opened my notebook.
I carfully touched the pages, gently, turning them. Once in awhile pausing when I spotted the remains of teardrops. Occasionally allowing some lines to pass my mind once again.
Leaning back, I turned another page. The page I looked at now was blank. I closed my eyes, took the pencil I have laid next to me. Trying to get more comfortable I draw up my knees and placed the notebook against it. Softly I blinked. Closed my eyes once more, reopened them. The pencil floated across the paper, jotting down letters, words, lines, sentences….
Not much more can I take…
Starting to pretend,… to be fake:
Out of stone I will be made,
Leaving my heart to slowly fade.
I gasped not having realized I started to cry until just now a tear touched my hand with which I was writing. I stared at it. Am I really…? I sighed. Actually I have been doing that a lot recently.
Everytime I gave in. Everytime I let myself fall into myself. Everytime I tried to fight back
what was bothering me. Everytime…
And everytime I ended up on my couch, notebook in front of me. Trying to calm my feelings, to defeat the helplessness, the feeling of overhelmed. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose.
That’s how life goes isn’t it?
My life goes on so does the writing, the turning of pages, the crying or smiling, the feeling, the caring, … everything… and everything my inner voice is calling out to me is written down in my notebook. Visibly,… so I can see,… so I can listen,… so I can read,… so I can breathe…
My notebook, my precious, my treasure, saviour of mine…
The final, the end. I enjoyed it… I really did.