Sometimes, I really crave to be alone. And I am happy, momentarily, for the anonymity and my exterior silence. But I realised that it is an ideal that I am trying to persuade myself into believing. At first, I only notice the sounds of my surroundings, the noise in the stillness creeping into my ears. Then, whispers in my head that I don't understand. I can't tell the difference between thought and noise. Gradually, the sounds get louder, louder. Louder, louder. Until I realise I am screaming inside, screaming and crying for no reason, conscious that everything within me is in motion, wanting to burst out of my mind and my body, wanting to grab everything that can hurt this malleable, soft flesh of mine, wanting to hurl myself off a building, run in front of a ten ton bus, anything, anything so I can bleed, crushed into a heap of red, and my soul shall be free from the ringing and the beating and the racing.
But the exterior stillness remains. Slowly, I get up. I take measured steps. And I walk home.
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