Talking to Myself

Just one of those days when my brain cannot find the right words to finish off my thoughts. The words are stuck on the edge of my brain, muddled in my throat — but I can’t move my tongue to let out what makes my chest heavy. I sigh in despair in the dark room filled with the smell of despondency. I peer out of the window to see the starless sky; my mind darts back to the forlorn hills I’ve created in my mind. There is cacophony, the kind of cacophony that blares out your ears while crickets chatter away like high schoolers left in a room without teachers. There is silence tinged with memories you desperately want to run away from — but there is no escape, as your mind already knew and forgot to tell your heart. The chasm between your heart and mind where your words are lost, where you are lost but not within yourself, is where you meet the other self who you earnestly try to bury deep down.