I had a moment of wanting to quit everything, of leaving whatever I am going or willing to feel aside and just sit there crouching in my bed doing what is best called the everything of nothing. I wanted to forget, to leave it all, to pretend that the world is not crushing and is soon ending, perhaps even the moment I wake up. Who knows. It was a very short moment, maybe even a split of a second before I awoke and realized I'm not that person anyway. I knew I was soon to give up, and giving up in my case meant standing and doing something. But I felt some kind of a massive headache rush through me, that rendered all my body motionless, as if my blood pressure went suddenly down to my knees, and everything felt so, so heavy. And I was somehow anesthesized unwillingly. I fought it, but it didn't fight me back. It really didn't have to, because that was what it is; some things don't even need to fight you back; you just accept them until they take their turn and then maybe they will leave you soon after you realize you gotta accept that moment to let it pass. I regained my balance, stood next to my books, they looked me in the eyes, and I started weeping, weeping like a child who lost something very precious but to grown-ups it was "childish." Things were too much on me. The heaviness of the world was in these books, and I felt like I could spend God knows how many hours reading them until I can finally feel again. I looked at each one of them, gave them a gentle touch with my fingers, like a pinky promise to come one day. And I left. I left to breathe some air and to accept what has been done to me by myself. I tried to think of moving on but it would only mean running away. And I have no power for running away from everything that keeps haunting me anyway.
I went outside and took a deep breath looking at the sky above me, before I finally closed them and whispered.
It is going to go away some day.
