Spilling Hearts

Sometimes, we are lost. We are walking in a wilderness, peopled by grasses taller than us. Their rough edges slice our skin as we navigate through. There is a sting where the skin breaks and a thin strip of blood oozes out, eager to explore the world beyond our blood vessels.

That sting travels all the way to our brain, then spreads out evenly into our whole body. Or does it?

Somewhere a nerve has torn, and the world feels foreign, devoid of the usual sensations.

There are a lot of voices. A lot of voices. Every voice speaking in a language that serves its own needs. Howling for your attention, screaming that they “own” the truth. What is the truth? It is, like my friend said, what you choose to believe. But when all the voices shout in a theme which feels relatable, which version do you accept?

And so, a hotchpotch of ideas hurl themselves against the walls of the brains. Blood, hormones, chemical reactions working their way for you to make sense of the world. Only, it does not make sense anymore.

An eyelid twitches. You worry if it’s an early onset of some nervous breakdown. It has never happened to you before. But you know that you have been forgetting the smallest things for a while now. The things which do not need any thinking, the things which are reflex. So, it does not impact your professional life just yet. But it is lurking in the corner, biding its time, waiting to claim your entire existence. A world when you won’t remember what is what. A world which has stopped making sense to you.

Yet, even in your sanest right now, how much of this world does make sense?

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