What do you feel?

Anger

I’m angry and I am not rational. It’s hard to be patient and even more challenging to be willing to analyze my feelings and emotions. I’m angry and I yell inside my head “This Era is over!” all over again. “We do it my way!” like a parent angered at its child.

I try to calm down and reason with my voice. “You won’t reign forever. We both know you’re just angry. You are protective, but we know you’re not going to last forever. You ruled many times before, yet it ended way ahead of its time. You are not endless and your lifespan is short. You are a phoenix which is reborn from the ashes. However, your anger burns all oxygen and you suffocate. When you’ll end, our paths will be so far away, so diverged, it will take ages to rebuild. You are a good choice for this child, but you die fast, never finishing what you begin. You are the strong parent that will vanish before the child will learn to stand its ground.” I tell him. I try to calm down, but it’s chaos. The world is flooded and my skyscrapers are laying at the bottom of it.

The world is crying. The sadness is dimming. Its last rays of darkness are corrupted by rage. My black, the only nuance I knew since youth is finally changing. It finally turns from non-color to color. A new light shall now capture my mind, heart and soul; and I do not desire for it.

Once black. Now, a shade of blue washes the earth, merging with the sky. A blink of an eye, a short pause, a quick breath, a temporary calmness which flickers and then it turns into madness.

Once black was the only light I knew. Now, red is my color.

Sadness

That’s it, man. We feel like, maybe, God has given us an extra day; and then another day, and another day and we end up taking them for granted. We are mortals, yes. We die, eventually; at least at this moment in our society. It is due to old age, due to our bodies degrading. But the human entity has a second body: the psych. The mind is more fragile. The mind can be changed by a simple sound, by a single raindrop on your window. The mind dies younger. It is either in the face of a loss, or along one’s journey in a room, in the sun, under a blanket. The mind usually dies when the hammer hits the nail; the outrageous sound it makes kills it in an instant. What is left, is just the echo of that sound. We make ourselves believe that it’s the echo of a rapid river going downstream. We lie to ourselves that it’s just the nature of things: a hammer’s utility is to hit the nail. Now, the mind is just a rotten corpse. We feel rain where there is blood. We smell tulips when there is just decomposing flesh. We feel the cold touch in a hellish weather. We see beauty to keep us hoping. We create beauty to feel alive. But the only time we’ll ever be alive again, it will be in the memories of others’. They will see beauty and, as our days, we ended up taken for granted.