cold

Everything is wrong today, and I can't explain any of it. I want to crawl back to the safe, quiet comfort of my bed and sleep until everything in this world has ended. My eyes burn and my head aches; my heart inexplicably joins the clamor and discomfort. There is no damnation, no redemption - no ascent or descent; only this numbing, burning greyness. It does not matter what tomorrow brings or does not bring. Tomorrow could bring perfection and nothing inside of me is convinced I would feel any differently.

I doubt that even he will be able to scratch the surface - make any impression or indentation in the wall of ice that is shooting up to encompass my existence, to reach over my head, forming a dome into which none can reach - nor do I wish them to. Inside, I remain alone - imperfect, yearning, cold, and hurting for reasons I cannot articulate or fully understand. I do not wish to let anyone or anything inside with me; I want nothing more than silence and peace and blessed sleep.

Part of me recognizes that I should feel worried or perhaps uneasy about the fact that I simply want to cut off everything and everyone, but I cannot muster the energy to do so. Cannot feel bad that I am silent, withdrawn, uncaring. I want to wish things were different, but that is as close as I can manage to any semblance of caring, and it is a distant echo, at best.