Autobiography

Autobiography

There she sat alone in silence, with only the small flicker of light from the candle next to her to keep her company. It's been burning for hours and the wick is almost gone...much like her sanity. She aimlessly stared at the flame. Nothing around her seemed to give her pleasure anymore. The piano longs to be touched. The dogs lie dormant and lonely. Bookshelves are dusty. She hasn't left the house in weeks. For months, she's been like this. Unstirring. His words drifted through her wavering mind over and over again. His last words to her have been everlasting in her world. Words so clear at a moment so tragic, that she can still recall the exact date and time. She'll never forget what he's long forgotten.

She tries not to dwell on it, but when she does, she will dwell and dwell until she has no ounce of energy left to keep her eyes open. Heaven forbid ever going to sleep, because she will dream about it, too. Her happiest dream that her heart refuses to unclutch turns into her worst nightmare when she awakes. It's a vicious cycle she cannot break and her reality isn't pretty. What will save her? Is there a cure? This neverending empty void within her grows bigger and stronger everyday and it's not something she can shake off. The void sucks out all the good in her. It devours her. Such a waste. She was thrown out like trash, and now, that's exactly how she's treating her life. Throwing away her mind, heart, and soul like the filthiest fragments of debris. Pity. The candle, barely able to keep itself alive, sits near the very edge of the desk. Gazing at it, she fights the urge to tip it over. Burning alive really isn't the most pleasant way to leave the world. She wonders what it's like to die. "It couldn't be any worse than this", she thinks. Suddenly, the candle burns out, spoiling her plans and extinguishing her thoughts. She's engulfed by traces of smoke and total darkness. The dark doesn't bother her much. She's been immune to all fear since that day. That day. That. Day.

She sighs. The pitch black room matches her mood. Bereft of light. Bereft of sight. It's nightfall, and as it grows colder, so do the tears rushing down her face. Everyday is the same. Everyday is exactly the same. They say time heals all wounds. But they never mention how much time. Days pass. Months pass. Years pass...and nothing. No consolation. Maybe she's exaggerating. Maybe she's doing it to herself. Maybe she's insane. Or maybe...maybe she's the only one who's not blind to the way things have become. They all ignore it. They act like nothing's happened. How could anyone forget something so truly cruel? Her heart so pure and untarnished and his so hard and irrevocable. I guess life really isn't fair.

The only sound is the ticking of the wall clock behind her. She doesn't know what time it is, and doesn't care. But she can hear the ticking. She can hear it so loud, it's pulsing and pounding in her head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Ten more seconds of agony gone by. One. Two. Three. Four...how long will this go on? How many more sets of seconds, of mintues, of hours, days, weeks, months, and years will have to pass before she is whole again?

"For all of us, our time is limited. We're born, we live, we die. Our time begins and our time ends. But, time within itself is immortal. So, if time heals all wounds and time is immortal, I guess our wounds are never healed." Thinking this makes her heart sink. The doom she's tried to kill inside herself has been resurrected. Yes. Time is immortal. "Forever. I'll feel like this forever."

Truth hurts.



(Originally posted on July 31, 2007, @ darkalchemystudios.deviantart.com)


© Caitlin Blair Cogar