Monday, December 2, 2013

Bricks and Pieces.

I reach out to feel it, the coldness and the pockets and grooves in the bricks. The cement in between each one.
This is most definintely a brick wall.
I pull back, the wall getting smaller as I pull away from it, already sore from before. As fast as I can, with all of my strength, again, I throw myself. Because everything I need is Inside of that wall and I need to get into it. Not on either side, INSIDE. so I try again. Gearing myself up, I connect with it, and ricochet off, again. I can feel the bruise pooling under my shoulder, the same one I've always used, a new fresh bruise where the last one was just starting to go grey. I want to cry. I have that feeling just under the skin, just behind the parts of myself I can feel, welling up. And I know that she is coming because she always comes after I connect with the wall instead of melding into it. The voice in my head that starts to tell me unless I take the wall down brick by brick and rebuild around myself, I'll never have a chance at being in the middle of it. I'm not a stone mason, I dont know how to build a brick wall.
So I sit. and I look at the wall. It's been there forever. I've never so much as put a chink in it, and I never really will.
Then she starts to whisper, in her darker voice, that I feel in the back of my head and the pit of my chest, because she is  a feeling more than a person, that I should just simply walk around and see whats on the other side.
  And this time, like every time before, I come a little closer to standing up and walking around it like she's asking me to. And every time I wonder how many more times before I do.

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