My life began as a blank piece of paper,  

A clean slate,

Whole, a loving family of four.

Years passed, and sections were filled,

Memories brushed on in a splatter of hues and shades;

The pristiness of innocence a mix-matched palette of colors, replaced.

Primary school started as quick as it ended, and new memories pigmented the paper;

New colors, new language, new home, new country,

Tones of tints overlapped and soon the old was buried.

It was sudden, the change;

Vibrant colors faded into the shadows of shades,

A palette murky with aging hues as time was wished unmade.

As a stroke of red streaked across the paper,

And blood red spikes dwindled flat down the line,

Ringing softly as it crooned, “Goodbye…”

Above Manhattan, the sky blurred with ashes and smoke

As fire engulfed the paper once part of my life,

Now as black as the widow, no longer a wife.

My life became a charred strip of paper,

A marred slate,

In broken state, a family of three as of late.

The old house stood strong as it had done for so many years protecting the family that lived within it’s walls. The House had watched the children be born within its walls, watched them grow up, and with great saddness watched them move away. That saddness was nothing compared to the day that the two remaining occupants decided that the house was to large for them, that they needed to sell the house and buy something smaller. The quiet house grieved in silence as it watched the family it had been so loyal to, so protective of, walk out of it’s front door for the last time.

What is going on? Where did this news come from? The world is about to come to an end for all humanity. I only have seven days to reach my family, my friends, to inform them of the coming chaos. Will they believe me? Will they think I am crazy and have me committed? I do not know what I have to do but I must act now. There must be a way to delay the end of humanity, to save humanity.

#theend #helpingothers #newwriter #timeisshort

Funny, I was just thinking about this today. I was lying on my, with 20 lbs of baby cradled between my theighs and my chin, and my hand was burning. the lid had fallen off the kettle as I poured, and basted my thumb and fingers in scalding steam. It hurt in a screaming, high pitched way, almost like the sound of the kettle itself.

But as I lay and felt, it seemed such a basic, simple, innocent pain. So easy to accept. Perhaps, as I am a tea fanatic, and careless as well, and so I have burned myself with boiling water to the 2nd degree many times in my life, it feels like an everyday pain. Perhaps familiarity makes it less intense.

However, I dont think this is the case with emotional pain. And maybe that is why it feels so much worse.

I thought, as I lay there, and for the first time, that I could see why they call it emotional pain. I've never thought about it as pain exactly in the literal sense before, as it isn't the kind of pain the arrives from a stubed toe, a burn, or even a headache.

But emotional pain is pain, in actual a rather simalar wat. It is a physical sensation, that the mind tells the body it won't survive. And like physical pain, it is the trying to get away that brings the level of misery up to unbearable.

Emotional pain is worse. But then I guess, having struggled with deppression, I've lived with chronic emotional pain for so many years, whereas I've only lived with physical chronic pain for a year or so at a time, following an injury.

With Physical pain, you know what to expect.

Emotional pain is invisible. It's unexplicable. It's unexplainable. Its unpredictable.

And it is sneaky. Its shameful. It has no proportion or scale, it can be bigger that your body, it can appear eternal.

It's terrifying. Who is that?

Normal days everything is just fine, the glass showing an image you've seen so many times before.

But then there are the days when you're coming out of your own skin, when you can't tell what's real and what's not. When you turn to the glass for comfort, to remind you who you are.

And you see something unfamiliar staring back at you.

Who it that?

It's not me.

Well, then, who am I?

All because of a piece of glass.