There is a soft sort of…quietness to the world today. A stillness, like the rapid flutter of a hummingbird’s wings got suspended in time. Wings are lifted-
There is a minute possibility that the world will stay this way. That it will just freeze, preserved in the rock-like certainty of forever spent in the same mould. Unchanging. Enduring. Completely forgettable.
Voices swirl around me, a laughing stream trickling over and around my ears. A kaleidoscope of sounds. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the colours of each utterance, rainbows of sound, fizzy vibrations like ripples in a pond. So many differences in hue and tone and pitch- I wish for uniformity. A world of grey. That way, no one would be able to see me, for once.
We are all flying in the world. Flying, soaring, floating and hoping- hoping that the inevitability of gravity would be suspended for one more moment, before we have to surrender to the fall. I, of course am falling. I’ve been falling since I can remember. I must have started off quite high since the descent is taking so long. Still, I think the end is coming soon; I can smell petrichor on the wind whooshing through my hair.
Now- wings fall.
And the curtain lifts, and I am not me. And I am not me. And I am not me.
I am her, the other me with the same face that takes over my body like a demon that doctors diagnose. A disease of the mind, they say. A disease of the mind, they say. A disease of the mind, they say.
It is not the mind- it is my mind. And it is not diseased.
My mind is falling, and the ground is rising up to meet it, because the hummingbird’s wings are falling…falling…
The moment is over, the world resumes and it watches me. Because I am the girl who is many girls, many souls stuffed into a too-small shell.
I want the freedom to be me. I want to forget about the certainty of the curtain falling over my identity, obscuring all traces of my face from the world. From my world. I want to never have known that being myself was too much to ask for, because I am more than just myself.