Reflections

Writing

He lay within his bed covers tossed aside, body stretched hands laying gently across the nape of his neck. His lips were docile and un-moved; he stared into the ceiling as if he were waiting for something to happen to it, his eyes shifted slowly back and forth slowly across the ceiling as if his pupils were cameras to his soul. Orange marks and cobwebs surrounded the ceilings corners he looked at the webs as they danced a tango within the chilled air that the vent gave birth to. The orange marks are the scars of the newly bought basketball he tossed into to the air, yet he didn’t mean for it to touch the ceiling and leave these harsh marks. The staple with a tiny piece of a posters flesh that the boy was too lazy to pull out lay upon the wall, it was almost four or five inches away from the ceiling that he still stared at. Noises filled the air as the boy lay down in his bed. The noises only he could here, the voices that he could only speak with, the voices he could only hear. They whispered to him of the mistakes he had made, he sat up and arched his back and stared into the screen of the television that was in front of him. There was no show on the television or a picture that filled the screen. On the screen was just the reflection that looked past his eye-glasses, past his eyes that seemed stoic. The reflection stared into the very soul of him, his body felt like lukewarm ice that began to slightly melt, he began to inch closer and closer to the television hoping that the reflection would come through it and give him a startling revelation that he has been hoping for.

 

I reached my hand out to the television and touched the dust covered screen watching my reflection as it did the same. I replayed the same question over and over within my mind. “What do you feel?” I kept staring into the eyes of my own soul looking for some type of answer to why I am who I am. Where is the sorrow within me? Is it trapped within my fist? That sensation I feel when I clench them as I become more and more divulged into my loneliness. Where is the happiness inside of me? Is it within my heart? A warm feeling that flooded my entire being is now cold. Am I whole? Where is the love within my heart? Non-existent at best, these questions that slowly ambled about in my mind as I reached my hand out to reach for some type of cinematic effect where I will become a new me. Where is the loneliness within my being, it is throughout me unparalleled by any other emotion. The loneliness overruns me and leaves my soul feeling as if it has no place. My mind is racing hand still upon the television, eyes focused upon my own reflection.

 

What do I feel? I don’t want to feel anything; I’m too scared to feel a thing, so I feel nothing.

I’ve always been okay with how my life has been, pessimistic and slow to open up. But I have always been okay, for some reason today I feel like I don’t even exist, so I’m reaching out for some type of feeling some form of emotion that I can’t find.

I keep asking myself,

 

“What do you feel?”

All I can respond with is, “I don’t know what to feel.”

 

 

 

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