journal#2 by Kimberly Ronning on Flickr.
I can’t remember the last time I held someone’s hand. Touched. Subtle and kind, sheer like breathy words, dainty like a morning drizzle. Right now, it’s all I long for. An accidental brush of the arm against the stranger in the desk next to me, our fine arm hairs tangling for a single moment, then separating almost instantly. I just watch to reach out and touch someone. Anyone. Rest my head on their shoulder. Put their hand in mine. I’d even trip someone just to help them up. Pull them off the ground and dust off their shoulders, apologize and walk away. I’m starting to forget I’m here. I’m so lost inside myself, confined within my own skin, that the lines are beginning to blur between my flesh and the landscape. I am disappearing into the world, and soon no one will be able to find me.
(Source: lonehands)
All that time I was calling out your name, I should have been calling out my own instead. There came a time where I forgot my name, even got it confused with yours. But now I have found it again. My name in its truest form. Each syllable rolling of the tongue comfortably and freely. I like the sound of it again. Over and over I have called and whispered and shouted my name with this reunited sensation, and I still continue to. And now that I have, I am right back where I started. Except unlike before, I have a constant ringing in my ears, a subtle buzz in the back of my mind, from shouting my name back at myself, and this tells me that I will never forget. Like a flower whose petals have all been plucked harshly and without hesitation, in confidence a new stem will always grow back with more. It is a constant growth, a constant sound. And the next time I call your name, (and I will always call your name) my name will escape my throat along with it. With every name I call, I will call my own. I call myself to myself, to others, to anyone who will listen. In the hope of finding someone shouting their own name as they simultaneously shout mine. Two flowers growing individually, but under the same sun. Two separate, static sounds buzzing alone, but on the same wavelength.
(Source: lonehands)
untitled by rocketrictic on Flickr.
