Eleven o'clock. I pick up my phone to check the time. I've repeated this action every fifteen to twenty minutes hoping somehow time has managed to speed up. The result never changes and I am left staring at the same mark on the wall which has kept my attention entirely too long. The only light comes from a desk lamp and the hazy glow of my computer screen. I am surrounded by silence. This silence is far from peaceful and not at all comforting. It's not the kind of silence you hope for when your neighbors are blasting their techno or kids are yelling on the streets.
This silence is unsettling and forced.
This silence reminds me I am alone.
My eyes continue to drift aimlessly as my mind races. I search constantly for the clarity I was hoping to find here, the perspective. My thoughts gain speed and I am carried into a whirlwind of images and memories. I want to run, but my body is paralyzed by the sting of emptiness around me. Trapped.
I check the time again.
My cage, the room with all the comforts of home, my tomb.
I allow my memories to penetrate and I have the sudden urge to paint, but I have no means. Splashes of color soar through the empty room from my core, the place where I've kept them safely locked away. Imprisoned. How ironic that when I'm unable to share my creativity it wants to break free of of its holding cell.
I feel an overwhelming swell from my heart that wants to give love and receive love, but cannot.
I want to sing, but everyone knows that The Lark never sings when captive.
So, I cry
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