Shoes

I lift my head.

I roll onto my back.

I look up in the sky.

It’s gray.

I’m reminded of Amus and him finding out about his love for his childhood best friend.

The hope I felt. The hopelessness that followed.

I look up in the gray sky and think about that.

What does it matter.

The sky is gray the sky is black the sky is blue.

You don’t just stop existing.

You don’t just stop trying.

I’m going to be careful with myself. I’m going to take my time.

I very slowly push myself onto my feet.

I stand up.

I try to breathe.

It doesn’t matter if I do or I don’t do a damn thing for the rest of my life.

I look at that thought for a little bit. It’s my choice what I want to do with that.

Maybe that thought would still be there if I were still in the speaking world. In the real world you try or you don’t, and it really doesn’t matter because you’re going to die anyway. Maybe here it’s you try or you don’t, and it really doesn’t matter because you’re going to lose your mind anyway.

I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do with anything. I’m a slave to the universe.

I look at my shoes.

I’m a slave to the universe but I can still move my feet.

I start walking.

There is no point in me being alive, but I am alive, so I’m going to live.

What is living?

I don’t know.

I start to hum.

Something low and soft, a song I once knew.

There is no hope in the world, but I hum with my voice and I walk with my feet. The universe controls everything but my voice and my feet. That’s nice.

I smile and it hurts. It hurts because it’s real and I can’t remember the last time I felt a smile that was real on my face. The muscles that make me smile are old and cracked.

I’m going to be okay. I’m going to keep trying. Until the day my mind goes I’ll keep trying.

That night I don’t dream of green eyes.

I dream of my dad.

I’m not like you, I tell him. I’m not going to do what you did.

Good, he says. I always knew you’d be stronger than me.

You needed help, I say.

I know. So did you.

I’m going to get out of here.

He doesn’t look much like my dad anymore. I don’t remember what he looks like.

I hope you do.

I wake up.

Hope. I hate that word.

I hope I’ll get out of here.

No. I will get out of here.

I stand up and start walking.

4 months have passed.

I don’t have shoes anymore. I walked so much in them that they wore into dust. I have not stopped walking for 4 months 3 days 20 hours and 46 minutes.

I have a beard now. It looks pretty terrible. My head isn’t shaved. I have long wavy hair now. It’s not bad. Kind of sexy.

Probably. I haven’t actually seen my reflection in a while.

4 months 7 days 4 hours and 6 minutes to be exact.

I have way too much free time for weird calculations.

Every day I’m in a stupor, but every day I keep walking.