logorrhea
Haven't really blogged. Guess it's because nothing much has been going on in my life in recent days. What's there to say, honestly? At times it's just so meaningless to speak. Worse still, words aren't always enough, nor are they the most useful things. I guess I'll just let my grisly child of an imagination to run free, and see what transpires from thereon.
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Inhale -
The night air was cooler than he expected it to be, and it had a slight twinge of tranquility to it. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, and relishing the fullness of his lungs. It had certainly been a while since he last indulged in such simple pleasures. The wind slowly picked up speed, and rustled his hair.
Everything slowly dulled into a blur to him: colors threaded themselves into infinitesimal lines, sounds blended themselves into an incomprehensible rush of wind, and his thoughts meshed together into a tangled net of memories. He relaxed his fists, which had been so tightly clenched together that his palms bore tiny, angry red welts, and felt the growing wind caress each and every finger.
He did not want to open his eyes any further. He did not need to. He had been blind from the very beginning; eyes no longer served any purpose to him. Sight was for the privileged, those who chose to live their lives. He had tried - oh, how hard he tried.
He never did get the hang of it.
Up there, he had felt... freedom. Independence. Tranquility. Solitude. He felt... alive.
As he calmly stepped off the parapet and onto the waiting street many floors below him, he broke into a smile.
He never realized he was holding his breath till he hit the ground.
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Inhale -
The night air was cooler than he expected it to be, and it had a slight twinge of tranquility to it. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, and relishing the fullness of his lungs. It had certainly been a while since he last indulged in such simple pleasures. The wind slowly picked up speed, and rustled his hair.
Everything slowly dulled into a blur to him: colors threaded themselves into infinitesimal lines, sounds blended themselves into an incomprehensible rush of wind, and his thoughts meshed together into a tangled net of memories. He relaxed his fists, which had been so tightly clenched together that his palms bore tiny, angry red welts, and felt the growing wind caress each and every finger.
He did not want to open his eyes any further. He did not need to. He had been blind from the very beginning; eyes no longer served any purpose to him. Sight was for the privileged, those who chose to live their lives. He had tried - oh, how hard he tried.
He never did get the hang of it.
Up there, he had felt... freedom. Independence. Tranquility. Solitude. He felt... alive.
As he calmly stepped off the parapet and onto the waiting street many floors below him, he broke into a smile.
He never realized he was holding his breath till he hit the ground.
- Exhale
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Done. Enjoy, fans of the morbid.
NIGEL
11:25 PM
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