Your hunger is just another thing harming you. All you have anymore is pain. Perhaps hunger can keep loneliness, hopelessness, and hatred company. Maybe it'll be like a big fucked-up emotion-orgy inside of you. Maybe they'll all get along and decide to leave you.
Damned if depression doesn't make you start thinking strange thoughts.
You make your way over to the park. It is pitch black there, the trees blocking out the street lights and giving the impression of a natural setting. But the presence of the streets cannot be totally masked as you still hear roar of the engines and squeals of brakes from the nearby traffic.
As you walk along trying to find a suitable place to rest, you come to a water source. It's a small stream, babbling along like some sort of tranquil space amidst the chaos of the world. You sit down before it and watch the moonlight reflect off of the rippling water and think about Claudia. You always seem to think of her. It's an unending cycle.
She would have liked this park, this stream. She always liked that sort of thing; sitting beside you in the night, observing and absorbing your surroundings. Just another thing you loved so much about her.
You quench an oncoming fit of tears in the quiet night, and stare into the dark depths of the rippling water, absently watching the moonlight play across the surface. Eventually you are unable to hold back the tears and bury your face in your hands; you tears rolling to the ground to intermingle with the flowing water at your feet. At some point in your sorrow you stumble into sleep. You dream that your tears feeding the stream beside you flood the creek into a great river. You row a canoe along the river and see her dead beneath the surface of the water, floating along with the current and keeping pace with your canoe, her dead eyes staring up at you from the depths.
You awaken just before daybreak, a cold sweat beaded on your forehead and body. Or is that dew?
You reach into your pack and pull out your camera. You take aim and shoot a picture of the stream which meanders by. You turn the camera off and shake the Polaroid until the colors fill in. Then you shove the device into your pack and the picture into your scrap book.
Slowly, you rise to your feet, shaking off the dream like state which still fogs your mind. You look around and stretch. Not far down the stream becomes a waterfall. You're half tempted to go check it out, admire the beauty of nature before moving on. But your stomach growls loudly and you know you should try to eat something soon.
You shoulder your pack and weigh your options.
Damned if depression doesn't make you start thinking strange thoughts.
You make your way over to the park. It is pitch black there, the trees blocking out the street lights and giving the impression of a natural setting. But the presence of the streets cannot be totally masked as you still hear roar of the engines and squeals of brakes from the nearby traffic.
As you walk along trying to find a suitable place to rest, you come to a water source. It's a small stream, babbling along like some sort of tranquil space amidst the chaos of the world. You sit down before it and watch the moonlight reflect off of the rippling water and think about Claudia. You always seem to think of her. It's an unending cycle.
She would have liked this park, this stream. She always liked that sort of thing; sitting beside you in the night, observing and absorbing your surroundings. Just another thing you loved so much about her.
You quench an oncoming fit of tears in the quiet night, and stare into the dark depths of the rippling water, absently watching the moonlight play across the surface. Eventually you are unable to hold back the tears and bury your face in your hands; you tears rolling to the ground to intermingle with the flowing water at your feet. At some point in your sorrow you stumble into sleep. You dream that your tears feeding the stream beside you flood the creek into a great river. You row a canoe along the river and see her dead beneath the surface of the water, floating along with the current and keeping pace with your canoe, her dead eyes staring up at you from the depths.
You awaken just before daybreak, a cold sweat beaded on your forehead and body. Or is that dew?
You reach into your pack and pull out your camera. You take aim and shoot a picture of the stream which meanders by. You turn the camera off and shake the Polaroid until the colors fill in. Then you shove the device into your pack and the picture into your scrap book.
Slowly, you rise to your feet, shaking off the dream like state which still fogs your mind. You look around and stretch. Not far down the stream becomes a waterfall. You're half tempted to go check it out, admire the beauty of nature before moving on. But your stomach growls loudly and you know you should try to eat something soon.
You shoulder your pack and weigh your options.
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