Echo

Ten minutes pass me by and disappear behind me into a hazy narrow-way which we all have the pleasure of calling the past. Its footsteps echo.

“Wait…what...what was that?...” is what comes slowly stuttering out as I pick my head up quickly from my wooden desk that so eloquently invited me in for a break from this place, and all of its colors. Life fluctuates violently and the walls shake. One minute the colors are so sharp that they are piercing and the next, all of the life and liveliness in the room suddenly quiets beneath a lonely shade of gray, that overtakes this quiet room and the seemingly endless heights of the wooden slabs of the furniture that reach far above my head.

My head finds its way back down, despite how badly that my mind does not want it to, along with a line of fragmented thoughts: Here we go again; that spinning commotion that I get in my mind when it is too filled with concern; that merry-go-round of worries that throws each of its complications into my face, to fade away, and then repeat. “I have things to do,” I angrily say at myself. “So much to do….so...much….” The computer screen stares at me while I once again drift off onto this cold, wooden desk. The blank page screams at me and I hear its every tone as the cursor fades in, and out. In, and out, over and over again; much like my conscious at the moment: in, and out. I hear it and I see it, but I cannot move a muscle; even as the fragments start to fall apart even more. This cannot be good; I think that my conscious has taken the hand of my reverie, and now they are sleeping on the same side of my mind.

More footsteps. More echoes. More footsteps, and more echoes.

I hear them all go; running more than they are walking; reminding me again with every step that life does not wait for anybody. Either it is on your side, or it isn’t. Either you make it on your side, or you don’t.

So life goes, and I only hear it leave through my sporadic moments of clear thinking during these moments where my focus cannot keep up with itself: Another ten minutes, followed by another five. And then an hour following and chasing the last of those two; followed by whatever fragments of consciousness and clear thinking that I can seem to fit in between the rest of it all. And along with them goes a posting, an article, a lesson, a conversation, an essay, a test, a study session, a friendship, and so many more things. Along with them goes any ground that could be covered, to bring me further than where I was before in any aspect of my life. And dear God we just cannot have that.

My mind snaps at the next echo, and I jump to my feet. I turn to my hazy narrow-way and extend my arm and hand to grab a hold of the next opportunity or feat that is finding its way through the dense and wet air; another one finding its way straight into my life, and straight out again. Just like the girl that you wished that you had spoken to. The one that dropped your jaw and rendered you wide eyed, which who you let turn around and walk not only out of the door, but out of the life that you call yours. And it is such a shame, she was so pretty.

So I reach out, only to find nothing and to grab a hold of nothing. The handful of mist that has found a home in the air escapes my hand as I reach out, close it, and draw it back in. I open it, and I study the emptiness: “Great. Life is passing me by and I just cannot seem to stay awake for it.”

This overnight stocking job sure as hell takes its toll. It is so draining that I find myself either at work or passed out in my bed that is far too big for only one person, or wherever a welcoming surface finds itself in front of me, much like this desk. I sleep, and life stands in a line and walks right past me as I lay there; one after the other; one new acquaintance, one new friend, one bettering situation, another writing, and another party; once again, another chance to better any certain aspect of my life. They look down to me as I slip into just another dream that I will in all likeliness not remember, they look back up, and then they take their steps to move on, like I do not even exist. And that is the feeling that they leave me with.

These opportunities are what keep me alive, or at least what is on the inside of me. Chasing and claiming these opportunities and making the best out of them is what keeps me going. Just like anybody’s life, things get hectic, and as of lately that is how they have seemed to stay. Don’t get me wrong, it is not like everything is going wrong in my life; it is not like that at all; it never is. But after such a buildup of unfortunate things one on top of the other and one after the other, I always turn to my social side and life’s opportunities to completely level whatever bad feeling may come attached with those unfortunate things. And simply, I refuse to be another person whose job has beat them down and destroyed the child inside of them. Life should not be so mechanical. I mean, this is only a job to bring me through college until I have all of my degrees, but regardless, I cannot sacrifice the obtaining of those degrees simply because I need a job in college. There are plenty more to do out there that will not cost me half of my life; I need that. The emptiness that I get from you is often momentarily filled by the moments that I seize and take a hold of. And without that my heart feels twice as heavy, and things are twice as hard.

One moment I will take in a deep breath to level my head with the amount of happiness that I feel from my friends and from my family, and the next, a cloud suddenly grows over my head and its grays and dark shades of color slowly creep over this scene, inch by inch, foot by foot, and limb by limb.

While I am at work, a package of painkillers slips out of my hands that I am trying to put into its rightful place. But luckily, my sarcasm tends to survive through the worst of things. “Fuck off life,” I respond with that outrageous level of sarcasm, followed by another self-driven laugh that my sarcasm tends to give me. But it is funny though; my laughter is a relief, and suddenly my mind opens up and the restraints and chains wrapped tightly around my mind let loose, all from the simple three words. The sarcasm turns into realism where needed; where I forgot to keep it alive, but only towards the oppressing parts of life such as the annoyance of my truck having to have three clutches replaced in the last year, due to illegitimate, thieving ‘mechanics.’ Now I am an extra $1800 out because a good majority of people just cannot do business right in our day and age. Pardon my language, but you know what?

Fuck off life, for putting those thieves in my path to scam me.

Fuck off life, for my battery dying and leaving me stranded in the deserts of bum fucked Egypt.

Fuck off life, for keeping me from my friends and best friends.

Fuck off life, for keeping me from my regular and wanted workout diet and routine, causing me to become a skinny little bitch.

Fuck off life, for keeping me from meeting these other girls who could possibly show me something that so many others simply cannot.

Fuck off life, for keeping me from having a positive outlook for even the shortest time that you did.

Fuck off life, for trying to kill the child inside of me. My heart has bigger aspirations and more life inside of it, than even you do.

Fuck off life, for trying to take your bearing toll on me, because I simply refuse to let you.

It is relieving. Finally, a mind waking moment to snap me out of this trance-like state that I have been stuck in; where my body operates, but my mind is empty. Now, once again, my body operates and my mind is full. My loves and my passions await me and my writings are one of them. My optimism and forward looking far outweigh your hindrances, reality. You see life, you are not meant to be so gloom; it is all in how you look at it, and all in how you look at you.

I owe the deepest apology to my passion of writing which I abandoned for a short time, but it will never be more than that again. You were a ghost ship living in my mind and drifting along our antecedents, but not anymore.

The worries of life want you focused around its darkest points as they tie anchors to your neck and try to weigh you down, and keep you there. These points take a hold onto everyone, and shamefully I let them take too good of a hold onto me for a short while. I feel weak for that. So in lieu of it, as the dark shades creep and darken onto the world that I open my eyes to every morning, I will look to the vibrancies that still remain, and to the beauties of this life that have found their way in and around my skin; I am still surrounded by it, and it is still here, somewhere between the sadness that has overrun this world. The colors will highlight onto every object in this place and everything will once again have its beauty like I have always seen and known it to have. Simply put, I will be the one looking down to all of life’s difficulties when I have made it to that point of towering over them, which I will.

The overshadowing of these clouds will dwindle, all in due time. And as for those grays that have claimed our cement jungles, our liveliness, and our duties as decent human beings here, well I find myself stuck in a forward movement with them, because those clouds find a comfortable and fitting place above my head, despite how much that I may honestly refute and refuse their affects. With every highlight and vibrancy, every accomplishment and gain, and every happy moment and feeling of content comes a slow overshadowing afterwards, whether for a while or a short while. You see, it is because you are the final piece to this puzzle of what makes the world beautiful to me; they outline the picture, as you highlight and lead.

And simply put: The grays; the grays are me without you.