And It Whispers
And it whispers
Maybe I do remember.
The quiet thoughts in dark corners during rainy days or sunny mornings.
I remember losing. Losing against thoughts that snuck up on me.
Is that form beside me a friend? It whispers to me, like a friend would, like we share a secret.
It’s the secret to why I feel like this. The whispers are heavy when they reach my ears. Words with weight to them.
My knees shake. It’s cold. It's the rain. Is it the light breeze? There’s sun. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands. We’re holding hands.
I don’t know what’s gripping me. I don’t know what’s holding me down.
I can’t stand up.
It won’t let me go. It’s in my legs, in my arms. Weight, so much weight. It holds my hand. And it whispers.
More Posts from Savingwords and Others
Summer Blues
I miss the cold
The foggy air, the gloomy sky
The grey clouds
For a short time my feelings appear justified
When the snow covers the ground
When the cold winds make people shiver
I don’t feel like a burden
People start talking about winter blues
And I believe my blues are less unusual
It’s the dry air that hurts on the skin
Which makes me hope that it’s normal to hurt within
And when the sun comes out
Flowers bloom, people laugh
I feel more alone
Streetlamp light disturbs the midnight time
Distorted shadow, running along the asphalt
It might be mine
The heart is supposed to fall
In love,
And for someone
But mine is quiet,
Still at it’s place
It doesn’t beat in sync with someone’s
But it beats for me
I’m not giving it up
But wear it on my sleeve
And treat it gently
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Gentle Spirit
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●a way to let go of my thoughts because I fear they might crush me● ||they/them||
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