Eyes on the goddamn striped wall. Breathe, bitch! One, two, pause. Inhale. Exhale. Get a grip. Keep it together! Yes, of course you can do it. I guess. Can’t promise you anything. In fact, no. Not really. See? You can’t do it. Here we go.
Just let go.
Remember the ride to the top of the mountain, when you decided you were already dead, just in case the cable car plummeted into the abyss? Be dead now.
All those take-offs and landings, some on September 11, some on Friday 13? Dead then as well, just in case reality actually smacked a hard one upside your head. Or maybe two.
No whys, no how-comes, no more conscientious synapse-building, no more toying with notions untill drool builds up in the corner of your lips.
Unfortunately, there isn’t a single muscle in the human organism that can constrict tear ducts. Clenching fists, teeth, flexing every muscle you got just won’t help.
Exits unavailable at the moment. Lifejacket not found. Oxygen mask not present. You should have let go previously. Can’t afford to just die like that, suddenly, without prior acceptance, because beyond convulsions lies a sea of uncertainty and, more dangerously, the urge to efface all memories, all notions, the entire ensemble that constitutes one’s life.