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Balance.
Balance is important to me. If I open the door with this hand, then I must close it with the opposite hand. If my tongue touches one side of my mouth, it must touch the other side. If I get a tattoo, I must have one that is opposite it in a sensible way, justified by size or shape.
Everything, the volume on the radio, the amount of change in my pocket, the temperature in the house, it all must be divisible by five. I know this must all sound crazy, sometimes I think I question my sanity out loud.
However, as I age, some things have become so normal, I must have a hot and a cold beverage, to counteract each other, if I make a mistake I will walk backward to complete it again, even in public…..and if I hurt something or somebody…I must feel the pain, to the degree and duration of their suffering.
In my head, it’s the only way to have a balance, the only way to have an order, change, and the cycle of living and dying. I notice sometimes people looking at me when I pick up my coffee from the counter at the shop. I reach for it and I burn myself on my right hand. I will close my eyes and take a deep breath in knowing what I have to do next. And when I say I have to, there is no level of fight, this is done as an immediate response to pain, I quickly burn my left hand. I hold back any painful sounds or facial movement and let it all just wash over me. Almost clearing me from any doom that would’ve followed if I hadn't grabbed that cup in that way.
I turn to leave the counter and make eye contact with an older woman, maybe 60 or so in age, her eyes wide behind her glasses and shock painted on her lips. I smile and nod, and think, bitch I just saved us all from doom. She desperately tries to fix her eyes on anything else in the room to break our gaze.
Balance of peace and doom, cleverly saved by my cleverness.
© jonniraeholliday
#shortstory #photography #WritcoQuote #inspiration #instagram #Poetry #writcoapp #writers
Everything, the volume on the radio, the amount of change in my pocket, the temperature in the house, it all must be divisible by five. I know this must all sound crazy, sometimes I think I question my sanity out loud.
However, as I age, some things have become so normal, I must have a hot and a cold beverage, to counteract each other, if I make a mistake I will walk backward to complete it again, even in public…..and if I hurt something or somebody…I must feel the pain, to the degree and duration of their suffering.
In my head, it’s the only way to have a balance, the only way to have an order, change, and the cycle of living and dying. I notice sometimes people looking at me when I pick up my coffee from the counter at the shop. I reach for it and I burn myself on my right hand. I will close my eyes and take a deep breath in knowing what I have to do next. And when I say I have to, there is no level of fight, this is done as an immediate response to pain, I quickly burn my left hand. I hold back any painful sounds or facial movement and let it all just wash over me. Almost clearing me from any doom that would’ve followed if I hadn't grabbed that cup in that way.
I turn to leave the counter and make eye contact with an older woman, maybe 60 or so in age, her eyes wide behind her glasses and shock painted on her lips. I smile and nod, and think, bitch I just saved us all from doom. She desperately tries to fix her eyes on anything else in the room to break our gaze.
Balance of peace and doom, cleverly saved by my cleverness.
© jonniraeholliday
#shortstory #photography #WritcoQuote #inspiration #instagram #Poetry #writcoapp #writers
