These are the days…

My cold, bare feet are following invisible trails through the sun filled rooms of our house this morning.           

A fresh baked almond bread on the kitchen island reminds me of the fact that just yesterday life was still ok. Even I felt it coming.

The ancient roots of grave sadness spiral down fast into the rich soil of my very being. Fertilized by the unbalanced chemicals of my brain; ready to feed a parasite as old as myself.                     

My eyes start tearing up while I walk towards the old wooden stairway. I know that my soul is in war now, just waiting to be ripped apart, butchered and left to die again.   Unless I fight.

A day later I have trouble concentrating, trouble following a thought or forming a complex sentence.  

With hands running through my unkempt curls I am trying hard to focus on my script; scouting out 

words before they are lost to me.

Tiny electro-shock-like sensations shoot through my muscles. My whole body hurts in places I didn’t know it could. 

By now my skin is oversensitive to touch, and the typical headaches have set in. 

With fleeing interest I gaze into an air of slight surrender while passing by the beautiful tall

windows of my studio. Even the warm light shining through the canopy of our large maple trees, hurts my eyes.

I walk upstairs into the darker guest room, where my hand lingers on the wooden door knob in

hesitation. My fingertips taking in the grain.

With a heavy heart I finally close the door behind me and melt into the liquid darkness. 

These are the days when it seems that all life boils down to, are memories. 

When the disgusting sweet smell of death, stagnation and loss, crush into my soul like a freight train. Like I am in need of such a delivery, but these episodes come in a package. Every single time. 

Some kind of twisted fuckery I might look back on in another life; laughing and slapping my knee, saying:   “Yeah, that was a good one! Man that sucked!”

These are the days when the eyes of my husband turn into the darkest green of a 

strong river making it’s way through the deep forests he knows I love so very much. Shielding me from

the world outside.  

These are the days when his eyes turn into the very earth my soul aches for, and clings to for survival.

I might have lost the ability to see God for now, but I can see him through his eyes. I can sense him in his love, and in his sorrow. 

The days when I hope he still believes that I will be back.

That our love will be stronger once more, than my temptation to slowly glide into the velvety peace…

( End of segment 12 / Chapter 6)                                    

Love and Strength as always!

Simone’

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