Ache

Ache.  What is it to ache? What is to feel pain from within? When the bones and muscles in your hands, face and chest constrict... throb... pound...hurt.... like a wound? The kind that makes you want to sit still, just so the pain can dull. You cannot stop the ache, and you wouldn't if you could because that would stop you from feeling. FEELING.

 Feeling becomes pain because you ache. ACHE IS FEELING. BEING ABLE TO ACHE IS TO FEEL.  Time doesn't change it. You're only aware that time IS passing. Its just a steady journey of the FUTURE in your PRESENT.

But you don’t have the luxury to sit all day, to dwell, to ponder, to panic, to worry and sometimes  to PRAY. You need to move, talk, smile, lie, laugh, get angry, shake hands, sleep, wake up, walk, run, breathe, cry, stop, do it all again. Not to forget, but to ease the ACHE. At least until the sun sets.

Yet it’s the worst in the STILL of the NIGHT. When ALL is still, too.  The trees have stopped moving and the old man who sells the doughnuts has packed up and left. The neighborhood jocks are not in playground, and the housewives are worn out from gossip. Not even Zeynep, the girl who shouts your name every morning from her window is there. The street lights aren't bright enough. A LOUD silence.

There is a nothing to fixate on, there is nothing to churn a reaction from you. No one REMEMBERS you, no one NEEDS you and no one can TAKE you in too, because they are, perhaps, ACHING too.  The warmth of your bed makes you HOT, not better. You turn; sit, lay back, turn, sit, and stand up… walk round within your own dead dark walls. Waiting. Maybe if you wait long enough, someone might speak from the darkness. But nothing happens, so you speak instead.

“I need to get new shoes,” is the first thing you say, because it’s tangible and true; Because what is intangible and true cannot be said. Its HEAVY, this ache. THIS ACHE. You look up but all you see is the dark stain on the plain square ceiling. “I need to clean that”, you think. But still nothing, no light, no beautiful music,  no happenings; neither ordinary nor surreal, no familiar voices, no reaching hands, no comprehending eyes, no knowing lips, no words, NOTHING. Just you and your ache.

So you sigh and smile because the sun rises soon. You smile because the sun will bring the ANYTHING. And the ANYTHING  will have to be alright. For now.