Weightless

When the day shrinks into an imperceptible dot, unveiling the darkness behind the canvas of the morning sky, she too turns off the lights and closes her bedroom door. Then she stands by the window and casts an indifferent gaze upon the passersby, and she begins to count their steps as they walk to their destinations, some hand in hand and others caught in the midst of drunken arguments. All those arguments seem to her mere trifles, voices that are suppressed by the silence of the night, and the bouts of laughter matter little also, for the all encompassing silence never discriminates between a happy and a miserable soul. She counts the steps of the passersby hoping that they could make her fall asleep; despite the weight of her indifference, her whole being is now elevated to a state of peaceful madness.

One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two.

So far four people have marched by her house into the embrace of unfamiliar futures. She remains standing when she ought to be sleeping, and in the taverns of her mind dust settles on the wooden stools and the wooden floors, not a single thought inhabiting the decrepit buildings in the recesses of her consciousness. She is thoughtless but aware, aware of her own insignificance, aware of the fact that the paths she has trodden all her life have been beaten beneath the feet of many that have walked the same roads before, all thinking themselves special and clever for discovering shortcuts that had already been revealed.

One, two. One, two. One, two.

The sidewalk that stretches from one end of the windowpane to the other looks to her like a thin strip of linen cloth, upon which one can only tread lightly lest their step tears a hole through the fabric, a peephole into the void that breathes underneath the town. Yet the people dance and prance on the same sidewalk, carried hither and tither by the tumultuous tide of ordinary life, unaware of the void and the fading nature of their own happiness.

But she knows. She knows and she is indifferent.

One, two. One, two. One, two.

Her parents knock on the door and ask if she is doing okay. When she opens her mouth to speak she realizes that she has been crying the whole time, and moments ago her sobs, loud and fragile and cracked, traveled through the thin walls of their house into her parents' bedroom, and interrupted a potential moment that could have brought back to life the dead fire of their marriage. She tries to speak again, this time aware of her true state of mind. Yet only two words escape her throat: yes mom. Her parents ask if she is sure, and whether she needs water. She says nothing in response for a few moments and then begins to wail. To her concerned parents this is a morbid sign of invitation, that they can now open the door and check on their daughter. Once inside they gently grasp her shivering shoulders and sit her onto the bed. The lights have been turned on and she can now see her quivering hands through her eyelids. She despises the shape of her hands but she does not know why. She closes her eyes again, the naughty hands therefore hidden behind a curtain of darkness and tears.

She hears the distant voice of her parents, their words mingled with her own sobs, words that constantly make an attempt to become permanent settlers in the taverns of her mind. But long ago she built a sheath to protect her mind from outside influence and impure thoughts, and now the same sheath guards the empty caverns of her soul, wherein one needs to create their own thoughts to fill the emptiness, self-made thoughts that often turn out to be destructive.

Her parents ask her what is wrong. They ask her why she behaves in such unusual ways, staring for hours into nothing and counting the beating of her own heart. They ask her why she cannot be happy despite all the opportunities they have provided her. Is it their fault that she is so sad all the time, as if seeing the world through a black lens? Is it their fault that she is unable to let her guard down and feel happiness? Is it their fault that she cannot even define happiness?

The girl sobs in response to all these questions. She sobs until she falls asleep with her head on her mother's shoulder, towards whom she feels an obligation to love.

In her dreams she sees herself naked, running around in leas and meadows with a sexless being who is naked also, and all they can feel is love and happiness.

In her dreams the sky is grey, the only color of sky that seems real to her, unlike the fake shade of blue that always gives one false hope only to reveal its true color later once the sun leaves its post.

In her dream it rains and she is happy as she rolls around the wet grass with the sexless being. All they can feel is love and laughter, until the being disappears right before she can say to it all her thoughts and visions of their future.

She is left alone in the meadows. The ground then opens its mouth and invites her to step into the void. She feels fear but excitement, proud to be the first who takes such a bold step towards self destruction.

One, two. One, two. One, two.

She reaches the edge of the abyss and looks down. At the bottom she sees the figure of a man who is attempting to push a stone up the precipice that leads to the surface, yet every time he comes close to the edge the stone rolls back down the slope, forcing him to descend the precipice once more.

'Why won't the man leave the stone alone?', she thinks to herself. Intrigued by this senseless sight, she also descends the rough slope to help the man push. She reaches the bottom and stands beside him, yet he does not take note of her presence. With the back of his hand he wipes the sweat off his forehead and pushes the stone, but this time he is able to reach the surface, thus leaving the girl by herself at the foot of the precipice.

She opens her eyes to the sound of her alarm clock. She feels tired. She feels heavy. She has to get ready and go to class.

Time to make her parents proud.