I used to think that it would be weak, although not really.
I think I'm just babbling.
The music that fills the room does not match the face of the boy that sings it, but it is beautiful none the less and it is lovely. It makes me feel lovely.
He sits across from me in the too warm class on a Wednesday afternoon. For a brief second our gaze meets. He quickly turns away and I keep looking after him, letting my mind wonder to a fantasy where we would talk endlessly and he wouldn't look like a vampire. I look slowly back at the lecturer speaking excitedly as the students around the room fight as hard as they can not to pass out from hours of lost sleep. Their eyes have glazed over, weather it be from smoke, or from sleep, I am not sure.
Our eyes do not meet again, but a look back at him. His arms crossed, his mind buzzing and a smirk across his lips.
There has been bad news happening all around me. Drifting through me - not really sinking in.
Death, destruction, loss, unhappiness.
I feel as though I have to be the one that's smiling. I have to be the one that isn't crumbling, falling, flailing and hyperventilating because everyone is doing that. Everyone is struggling to stay a float in this crazy life. I have to make jokes and sarcastic comments, and If I stop, for even a minute, I know all the sadness will catch up to me, pull me down and I would never be able to climb out of the pit that it sucks you into.
I don't want that.
Tonight.
Tonight I feel, I've finally been able to let the emotions that have been bothering me out.
Today.
Today was hard. The day was long and the wind blew a chill through my bones that had them shaking and writhing inside me until I could barely move, barely breath and not even utter a single word.
My teeth are clenched against all the things I'm forbidding myself from saying.
The voice has changed and I can imagine his face clearer and --
I'm screaming.
I'm screaming again as my eyes are filling with big drops of salty tears and I'm struggling to type.
I'm screaming.
I am surprised that my chilled finger tips remember the exact position of the keys as the fly across the keyboard making small tapping noises. As my fingers press down, applying more pressure to the area, my mind is reeling, revelling at the wonder and mystery - beauty to an extent - of muscle memory.
Pressure.
That's what this all is. Were just little bottles all pressurised emotions with no way to let it all out.
The music speeds up as I wipe my nose on my sleeve. It hurts, I am stiff, In pain.
From the top of the hill it looks as though the city is under siege from pollution. The buildings are faded against the backdrop of dull morning sunlight and the dust that has been kicked up by the cars and people for the last three months.
They're drowning. The people are drowning but not in water, in the city. We're overwhelmed, over tired and ready to burst. We're angry and there is no fresh air going to our brains so were all tense. Were all walking on a tight rope where we're all about to fall to our deaths and we cant do anything about it. Were slowly sinking and, how ironic, we need the rain to bring us back to the surface and bring us back to the clear air, the clear light of spring and the breaking of the smog that has our souls and spirits oppressed.
Nothing is working out and the days seem to drag on as the nights settles over the smog in the city.
We need to break free from all this.
With thanks for the inspiration of your beautiful voices: