I hear nothing.
Life is as it always is,
but something just doesn’t feel right;
all I can focus on,
and the only sound that breaks the silence
is my breathing;
all that I am certain of
is that I am still alive,
because I can still feel my heart beating.
The stars are in the sky;
the moon is full;
everything looks as it has appeared before –
however, I just have this feeling that I can’t shake:
that there is something lingering in the air,
something building in the darkness of the night,
that makes tonight feel like it is not just any night.
It’s probably my mind playing tricks on me;
it’s probably me thinking too much;
it’s probably something completely logical
and easily explainable, as to why I am feeling “funny”;
it’s probably my emotions running away with themselves –
however, usually when I do so,
my emotions tell me exactly what is happening,
or going to happen –
but my emotions are the thing
that I have learned to trust the most.
I have had feelings like this before –
as if I am watching a huge wave,
while standing in the ocean,
and in-awe of it and unable to move,
because I feel like I can’t look away,
and because I need the wave
to come crashing down on me somehow.
My thoughts race,
my instincts go into overdrive;
I swear in my mouth there is this odd taste;
I try to see past the darkness, and the wave,
but I cannot see beyond what hasn’t happened yet –
these days, the future feels as if
it is an ever-changing cloud.
I feel like I am looking up at the night sky
through a telescope, seeing something bright and blinding
approaching in the lens,
that looks like a meteorite
that is coming straight for me,
that is going to fall right where I am,
and the thought that I might not be touched by the impact
is one that holds no hope;
and, as I watch, as I wait, as I feel, as I listen,
I know that something is coming,
there in the silence.