It’s too quiet.
It’s like my mind is playing tricks on me because I can hear my heart beat echoing across the walls, surrounding me in this room.
My head is throbbing and I’m hot so I reach for the fan just to ease the tension but now it’s too loud.
I can’t find serenity.
My phone isn’t charming and I know it sounds desperate but I need to talk to you because you calm every nerve in my body without any intention of doing so.
It charms . . . it’s not you but fond memories tagging along with a face I clearly remember, a person I know so well but seems to know now, so little of, at least what I tell myself. Maybe it’s me I don’t know of, or who I am towards them.
My head is still throbbing.
Discomfort forms within me.
Somehow I block out the noise of the fan turning clockwise to cool me and it becomes quiet again.
Too quiet and from there on lies a pattern.