My corner of the world is small. You would think it's big, because I know you, and your friends, and their friends, and people beside. But it's not, I'm the only person who lives here.
My corner of the world is the place I sit with my knees drawn up to my chest. Sometimes it's peaceful to sit and observe; I've learned a lot from watchful eyes, listening ears, and more than a few moments stored in memory. But sometimes it's anguishing; when my mind is the only thing keeping me company at high speed, no brakes pace even though I'm not moving anywhere, the place where there is a small vacuum of time and space that wants to suck out the bottom of my esophagus so much that I can't stop moving or I'll stop breathing.
My corner of the world doesn't look like yours. It's hard to know if you would recognize it if you were there, or maybe you might have a name for it that I wouldn't call it, but the only name that matters is the one I give it. But sometimes your's might be a better name.
My corner of the world is sad sometimes, but I tell myself again and again that it's not only my corner. A corner has only two sides, and everyone knows that four walls make a room.
Yes, four walls make a room.
No comments:
Post a Comment