A lot of people say that writing helps.
Especially when you don’t talk; let the words flow on ink, let the visuals of the alphabets form a motion of self expression.
But what do you do when your days are blank and your vision is dim?
When your brain is a hollow cavity, your mouth closed shut and your fingers stagnant?
When you imagine the muscles and the veins under your skin are not red but a mixture of transparency and pitch black?
When even getting your mind and soul to function is an unwieldy effort that even the thought of doing it tires you already?
On days like these I usually hide myself under the covers imagining I am also the dark translucence flowing in my frame. But I now know that I need to get up.
I don’t know how but I have to get up.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.