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She couldn’t remember how she got here. Perhaps due to the mere fact that she never did. She didn’t get here. Or she did, but not really. It’s a tad more complicated than that. As mad as it sounds.&nbsp;A simple, affirmative, closed statement: “She got here”. Except once you grow, once you mature enough to let yourself go, to let yourself not know, you notice. You notice that in spite of everything and everyone, it isn’t a “she got here”, it never was (if there’s even a here or a she to begin with). &nbsp;Once you really think about it, so much so that all your fears and doubts settle deeply on your face, on your body, on your mind, but most importantly, on your eyes… Then you notice. That’s when you realize that the right pronoun to use is “we” (given that we’re past the hypocritical point of pretending it’s a “they”).&nbsp;WE got here (perhaps we’ve always been here one way or another) and that’s something we must live with (or at least learn how to). Because it isn’t just her. A mere Jane Doe of this Earth, who marched in and out as quietly and as unnoticeable as a temporary visitant, only leaving behind a trail of footsteps that will soon be washed away by the tide. &nbsp;No, it wouldn’t be fair to just talk about her. To put all this weight on her shoulders, all this pain, and anguish and sorrow. It isn't meant for one (mainly because the reason behind it isn’t just one person). &nbsp;So when we talk about her and how she got here, we’re also talking about him. The other one. Another ghost from the past, a premonition of the future, perhaps even a reminder of the present. Because he got here as well, as willingly (not sure that’s the right word, not sure there even is a right word) as she did. And so did they- No, so did we. &nbsp;We all got here. Some with wales and cries. Some with fake smiles, clenched jaws and terrified hearts. Some with an exemplar stoicism, which to the less keen eye could look like pride, but were simply just the clear signs of hopeless defeat. In the end, we all got here.&nbsp;So when we say “she couldn’t remember how she got here”. When we share the blame and dissipate our memory, as if it were wind (no doubt because at least the wind gets to be free, unreachable, unbothered by it all). What we really mean, in a deep dark corner in our minds, in our hearts (which shimmers away and reflects itself in our eyes, for everyone to see the lost battle), is… we’re here. And we know exactly why (or maybe not even that, how painfully ironic). &nbsp;But either way, we’re here. At the end of everything that’s known. In front of nothingness. We are all here. And still so alone. For fear does that, it separates us from our own.&nbsp;And in spite of it all, she takes a step forward, into the unknown. Into that punishment we’ve carved for ourselves. And she walks all alone, not knowing she’s being followed by others like her (as terrified, as stupid, as brave?). And we all walk forward. We all walk together. We’ll all get there. Or it is nice to think we will. &nbsp;&nbsp;

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And still we sleep

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And still we sleep

total_freak.28

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And still we sleep

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