Fickle

Raindrops keep on tapping my window. They try to go through the roof. Each drop stays on the glass and leave for a while. I simply stare and bare the cold covering my feet, going up my legs. I lay lazily on the sofa, trying to scribble some profound words of wisdom. But as my senses come back to life, I can see the empty pages I made. Almost a hundred empty pages, stories of my life, written with a pen with no ink to breathe in life.

I never really saw the pen, I only like the feeling of holding it tight and scribbling some words to describe my day. Some days are almost always the same. Some days are very different that I have to fetch a dictionary to guide my through my writing. Other days are just too tiring for me to even hold the pen. They just stay in my memories.

I really want to see the world, but I’m too lazy to take a step. Too fragile to try and see things for myself. I simply get the remote control and switch on the tube. Now, I can be anywhere in the world.

I’m not really sure if it’s laziness that leads me to my misery. More than that, I think it’s actually fear. It’s devouring my whole being, chopping my feet, legs, and arms to make me immobile. It’s numbing my whole body, slowly but precisely. Soon, I hope not, but soon it might find my heart  and make it numb, broken, or dead.

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Published by

J. M. Salgado

This is for the unraveling thoughts of a Filipina trying to understand the creatively altered life of herself and the environment that she lives in. Learning to live the life through writing.

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