I woke up this morning with tears streaming down my face, no recollection of last night's dream if there was any to recall. Was this the effect of reading MSP's favorite dark authors along with deppression and sadness enclosed in their keyboards? I was asked to read a few posts, and not before long, shadows overcame me. Before exposing myself to an abyss that extended towards me, I felt fine.
I awoke, heavy. As though every corner of my being was bruised from fighting demons, not even my own, that swarmed me. Aching and crying, wanting to escape it, a window. 31 stories up with no screen that can be pulled open. I retract. Nothing in this life makes sense anymore, to be moved and hold emotions foreign to me. A pain that held no basis no purpose to me, intertwined, embracing me. I looked to the painting hanging above in our room to console.
"Do you ever wake up feeling horrible sometimes with no reason?" I looked over to Kevin, who appeared engrossed in a game he was playing. He looks up.
"Yeah, I feel horrible right now.
But that's because I'm hungover." He laughed with regret of last night's activities in his voice. I was invited on a fieldtrip towards his nearest bank's atm, to get his portion of our rent.
On the walk he showed me his hands, as his other chef cut herself recently and is wearing a cast. "It's like I'm basically working by myself." He allows me to examine his fingers closer. "These cuts, they're not even scars. They're just there." I feel my phone go off. It's my friend, that's going through his own pains, a divorce.
I'm not the most tactful when it comes to relating, but I felt it, an overwhelming sadness, but from an external source. Everyone is connected, what ocassionally feels tangled in these threads.
"You know why every sushi chefs hands look fucked up?
You go to Japan, and the master chefs all have smooth hands." He glances back at his own in disappointment. "Everyone out here cuts themselves all the time, people in Hawaii just don't give a fuck about safety." We both laugh, as he turns back, the back of his white coat, and his knife bag dangling of his shoulder.
