Monday, April 22, 2013
There's a burnt taste to the air. Heavy with moisture and carelessness. I can taste it at the tip of my tongue, the bitter acid spreading and coating every buds.
The walls are pulsing with disapproval, doors creaking with speculation as I wonder the source. The exact point where the bitterness starts.
With a cluck of my tongue I let the reel of film rewind in my head, not images but tiny events jumping out every now and then.
I can feel the center moving about, the smell of its harshness suffocating my nose. It glides down, leaving the air above a bit cleaner. But the burnt quality still lingers.
The aura of puzzled fear pulses through the floor, underneath my feet. Confusion, guilt and sorrow.
All so familiar to me now.
A sigh of sadness escaped my lips as I wonder if some emotions would always make maturity fly to the horizon.