Out of all the definitions I inserted into my subconscious, the most enduring one was the fleeting feeling I witnessed, as if I was out of my body, in the buses. Indistinct chatter of passengers, evergreen departure from where you are never certain, cars and faces changing in a blink. They all melt rapidly and emerge as a silver sphere that glimmers violently on my face. Those uncertain minutes stretch before me while I, a lump beyond reach, can sense the sinking indifference. I can't remember my name and my face loses its features and my tongue swells in my mouth. It becomes one enormous wound, incapable of pointing the hurt, a useless possession.

Strangers flood bus stops, throbbing with orange heat and impatient feet. I think of my computer screen and its blue halo pretending to bless my sleepless nights. I think of my jagged spine breaking more and more each time I type something in the search bar, believing for a shameless instant that I can find residual heartbeats of comfort. I am afraid of being all over the place and tomorrows. I cannot change my bed sheets alone. I cannot walk past the place I was born.

I, a mess. Too coward to cut off the tongue, too hopeful to see the green light at some flat corner of my hometown where an old man just spat the truth. It is a mess.

Photo by TJ, via https://www.ignant.com/submissions/in-the-light/