A Late Night

I am sick with the hunger inside my gut. Something physical, maybe another element of illness as well. These are moment of passing, drags of inhibition and unforeseen danger. Littered numbers and 26 alphabets, greek letterings and stars, the night sky is shielded beneath the white blinds, the locked keys, the pulleys of will. Something stirs inside me, irks and I jerk away from it. “you can’t hide forever” – the voices are catching up, I collect it and put it neatly into the jar. Everything is made into a list, ordered and fair and just and perfectly lined. Initially I had so many things to talk about this week, small and intricate things; seconds that lasted which made me smile in delicate indulgence when I allow myself to, falling in love with the lively demeanor of a fourteen year old girl, chasing memories. But now everything looks disfigured, melted into each other. The laughter distorts and clamors onto hysteria, they eat each other up, it becomes nothing more than a disappearing act.

It ends with logical laughter, “i ate ethanol and i saw Einstein”(haha yes thank you Ty) and I know I am still safe, at least for this round.

p/s:

"Oh, you're so sweet. And maybe I'd look lovely, darling, and be so thin and exciting to you and you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said. "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said, "that's what I want too."


Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

I want to read that.