Afternoon Walk

The pale and bland color of the ceiling looked down at me, chipped pieces of it falling onto my body. It felt as if even the ceiling was mocking me, whispering words burning with ridicule into my ears. I looked around my dark room and out the window, deciding to go on a walk. I sighed and slowly got up off the floor, looking at the newly formed lines on my hands that were caused by the rough texture of the carpet. I trudged out of the house and felt water droplets fall on my hair. Rain. My eyes selfishly clung onto the outlines of two figures before me. A mother and a daughter playing outside in the rain. It was a nice sight. The girl jumped in a deep puddle, the mother reprimanded her afterward. The girl's buoyant eyes caught mine and a look of disgust began to spread all over her young, soft face. The mother quickly held the girl’s hand and shifted away, glancing back at me one last time. The sound of their feet hitting the water echoed through the air. I felt something wet on my cheeks, but it wasn't the rain. It was the pathetic tears running down, slowly coming together and painting an image dripping with the emotions swarming inside me. In the image was me taking the girl’s place, jumping and laughing while my mother stood alongside me. The image quickly disappeared, and a dull, lifeless scenery quickly replaced it. I sat on the soaked ground, rain water ambushing my face, and stared up at the voluminous gray clouds, feeling intoxicated by them. I wondered what it was like to be a cloud, floating around with the other clouds, feeling excited when the eyes of a young child looked up and pointed at me, admiring my figure and texture, shouting to his other friends about my strange shape. I’ve always imagined the pride that oddly shaped clouds felt when all eyes were staring at them, knowing that there was something special about them that differed from all the other homogenous clouds. Tears had been making their way through my eyes for a while now, for no particular reason. I always thought that the beauty of the things around me had caused these tears to emerge, but I’ve soon realized that tears formed due to the beauty of things and tears formed due to pain were two different things.

The nighttime breeze ran its fingers along my face and I imagined the little breeze turning into an atrocious windstorm, eating me up. The sound of wind was whispering into my ears. It sounded as if it was sobbing, waiting to be pitied by someone, hopelessly grasping onto my clothes as if I would be able to cure its inexpressible pain, not knowing that I couldn’t even cure my own pain. The wind, out of frustration, clanged on the windchimes in front of the houses in the neighborhood, creating a rhythmic tune that only I had grown familiar with. The cries of the wind finally stopped, as if it finally gave up on looking for its savior, realizing that its long-lasting pain will never end. It’s realized that it has no particular source, nor a particular destination. The thought of the multiple similarities between me and the wind pried out a sense of comfort from within me and I decided to bring the wind alongside with me on the rest of my afternoon walk. It followed me through the trees, blowing the stray leaves out of my way, creating a path that was meant for me, and me only. I enjoyed the wind’s soft sobs; it was nice hearing the sounds of despair that weren’t mine for once.