Saturday 11:40
I am cold in the feet. Double socks but chilled. It’s rainy. There is more Autumn in the air than the harsh Fall in my lungs.
I am the sleepiest kind of wired. Anxious but silent. I am static in a room devoid of movement aside from the pendulum on the clock. Is that what it’s called? Either way, the thing is ticking.
My feet are kicking. Fidgeting. The same cold feet. I half mutter the words I type. My right ear and throat ache. Reopening new wounds with old ways of destruction.
I have been yelling at myself in silence for all of my life and somehow all of the scolding has only resulted in more moments of fidgety cold feet dangling off chairs with every toe screaming I am still so very sad and every leg of the chair squeaking being lonely isn't all that bad.
It's rainy and the raindrops are nice to me. I see them smile with a sadness we have always bonded over. The rain, its comforting, even. It’s a weather I know well and a feeling I know even better. It’s the nicest loyalty I have ever known.
I take my socks off because my feet are sweating.