Although this is a work of fiction, it was inspired by a time in my life when I was heavily dependant on someone else. I'm trying to get back into fiction writing so I thought I would share it up here.
When I was younger, my mother told me not to stick my wet fingers into electric sockets, my teachers taught me a hymn to thank the Lord before I ate and I learnt to dip my paintbrushes in clear water and outline the pictures in my colouring book, so that my scribbles did not go outside the lines and my colours did not bleed into each other.
Somewhere though, there is a fine line between growing up and forgetting and I stepped into that line. I let the colours of your life bleed into mine until my red and your yellow became orange, your red and my blue became purple and my yellow and your blue became green. I was no longer me and you were no longer you and we became us.
Slowly, I abandoned all the things I had been taught in the past. I would use my wet fingers to plug in the hair dryer, so that I could dry my hair quickly before meeting you. WIth my fingers entangled in yours under the table I forgot to thank the Lord before I ate my meals. But most of all because we forgot to outline the drawing that is our lives, the colours seeped into each other until we were not two but one. We were like swimmers in the vast, open sea holding onto nothing but each other to survive.
Once upon a time, I would open my Coke can and wait for it to go flat because the bubbles in the soda burnt my tongue, but I drank greedily from the bottle that is your life, and although the bubbles burnt my tongue, I chose to ignore them.
A doctor once explained to me the theory behind the concept of rubbing balm on a body ache- the balm burnt your skin so much that just for a moment, you are able to forget the real pain that is hurting you. At that time, I didn't understand what he was saying but now I know, because every time the razor blade eats away at the thin flesh on my wrist, the pain that engulfs me momentarily numbs the hurt in my heart and for awhile I am able to breathe a little easier. And as I watch the little drops of scarlet blood fall from my wrist onto the floor, my heart beats a little faster, because that blood is MY blood, MY red blood, MY red and ONLY MY red.
When I was younger, my mother told me not to stick my wet fingers into electric sockets, my teachers taught me a hymn to thank the Lord before I ate and I learnt to dip my paintbrushes in clear water and outline the pictures in my colouring book, so that my scribbles did not go outside the lines and my colours did not bleed into each other.
Somewhere though, there is a fine line between growing up and forgetting and I stepped into that line. I let the colours of your life bleed into mine until my red and your yellow became orange, your red and my blue became purple and my yellow and your blue became green. I was no longer me and you were no longer you and we became us.
Slowly, I abandoned all the things I had been taught in the past. I would use my wet fingers to plug in the hair dryer, so that I could dry my hair quickly before meeting you. WIth my fingers entangled in yours under the table I forgot to thank the Lord before I ate my meals. But most of all because we forgot to outline the drawing that is our lives, the colours seeped into each other until we were not two but one. We were like swimmers in the vast, open sea holding onto nothing but each other to survive.
Once upon a time, I would open my Coke can and wait for it to go flat because the bubbles in the soda burnt my tongue, but I drank greedily from the bottle that is your life, and although the bubbles burnt my tongue, I chose to ignore them.
A doctor once explained to me the theory behind the concept of rubbing balm on a body ache- the balm burnt your skin so much that just for a moment, you are able to forget the real pain that is hurting you. At that time, I didn't understand what he was saying but now I know, because every time the razor blade eats away at the thin flesh on my wrist, the pain that engulfs me momentarily numbs the hurt in my heart and for awhile I am able to breathe a little easier. And as I watch the little drops of scarlet blood fall from my wrist onto the floor, my heart beats a little faster, because that blood is MY blood, MY red blood, MY red and ONLY MY red.
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This kinda sounds as if it is written by a person woozy in the head you know :)
ReplyDeletenot that it is bad or anything ... But lets hope it stays fiction :)
I loved this piece when I first read it..and I still love it. <3
ReplyDeleteThe refuge of controlled emotion or the ecstatic freedom of unconditional love . Be proud that you have the courage to choose the latter :)
ReplyDelete