Because everyone needs to escape.
The first words. The first impressions. These are the strongest things which play into our memory. Impressions can change, words can change; but the first words, the first impressions; they never do. Not even when our conscious tweaks them; bending and pushing, eventually moulding them into what we want them to be. No. Beneath it, beneath the conscious memories of first words and first impressions, beneath the changed and polished thoughts, lies the subconscious memories; the real ones, the ones unaldultered, unchanged and untouched. We push them away, push them into the farthest, remotest place of our mind; but they are there. And so they shall remain, until we choose to take them out, until we choose to release our supressed thoughts, to free them… Until we decide to revert to our conscious. Then, we lock up those memories. Subject them to the dark recesses of our mind, pushing them away, deserting them… And wait for the next liberation, that which we secretly indulge in, throwing all pretence away… Because everyone needs some form of escapism.
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I cannot describe how I feel. Detached, perhaps. Reflective, maybe. Vulnerable, open, numb. Lonely? Possibly… The building up and restraining of feelings, the flicker of attachement, putting out that flicker, dousing it with denial and pushing it quietly away into the dark corners, locking it away into a stronghold, wishing to be rid of it and yet, secretly waiting for the day where it can be released and accepted without questioning, without doubt, without cynism… To be able to just embrace it and hold on to it and letting it wash over. To let it flow free like a burst of strong wind, like a roar of fire, like a gush of waves… To throw everything away and just let it be.. Until then, it should remain in the dark corner.
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*sigh* Maybe it’s the lack of ice-cream. Amusing how I hate those cheesy, so-called deep, amatuerish, hormone-driven posts by pseudo-depressed teens and then creating one of them myself. Hypocrite. It’s the lack of ice-cream. Yeap, that’s it. Lack of ice-cream.
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There. It was done. She did not care, did not want to know about what they thought. Let it be. The hint of a smile played across the corners of her cheeks. It was done. Let it be. She looked across the sunny street and the smile formed. Doves flew above, a gentle wind blew, trees waved and the smell of fresh pastry teased around the sidewalk cafe. Children played about at the park across. She stood up, still smiling, and walked across. He took her hand and they walked down the sunny street. It was done. Let it be.
