Somewhere in the Distance, a Train Whistle Blows

A storm is passing through.

My dark room turned a bright yellow all at once. It's warning pouring through shut windows, drenching everything it touched golden. I knew what was coming.

I laid on my bed, my head spinning. I closed my eyes to relieve the pressure (migraine) but it didn't help. My heart is feeling a bit heavy, too. I feel like it's been forever since I've had contact with another human. Not generally speaking, but a human---a person---to touch me, to love me. I'm not feeling particularly unloved, I am feeling a slight longing to just be near someone who is capable, able to look past my imperfections and to hold me.

It hasn't been long since I've been with someone...but it's been forever and a day since I've had someone hold me, like that, or kiss me, like that. The type of contact that isn't shallow, or in vain. The type where it's a tangible bead of feeling, that's being shared between two people with a strong bond. And by bond---I mean, an unshakeable feeling of intensity that washes over everything, drowning anything else out without a second thought. It's been a long time.

I can wait. I'm learning that patience is a virtue. But there are times when I feel this way and now is one of them. It's a time when "getting your mind off things" doesn't work. Where you feel so incredibly moved by an idea that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can hinder your train of thoughts to something less destructive, so to speak.

I am drunk with stillness. Unable to move an inch without wondering why. Just why. I can smile and laugh, with these tears, because they aren't sad, nor are they happy, they just are.

As you can tell, I get in these moods once in a while. And sometimes,like this, they are triggered by being moved at just the slightest, simplest things. And other times, its when I'm in a pit of despair, clinging to thoughts of hopelessness, as I lie on the bathroom floor.

I am a thinker. An idealistic girl without an outlet at this time, to release my inner demons. So I type meaningless words on a screen, to attempt to demonstrate the inexplicable (ironic, isn't it?) thoughts running throughout my entire body, in hopes of temporarily recreating a feeling that may cease to exist in the future. But I know me, and I know this will be back.

In a way I'm a train wreck. Messy and inconvienient, broken down and tired. But I still blow my whistles. Sometimes I'm crazy like that.