Others reflect upon the same memory and feel a stake driving further and further into the wounded scar they call heart. Instead of a grin, eyes crinkle and narrow, flashing from watery tears that refuse to fall. A look that could have been happy changes to that of a bottom lip being bitten to hold back sadness, while droplets finally dribble down their cheeks only to stick to the chin before dripping off to the ground as everlasting memories.
This certain photo that crinkles within the grasp of a clenching, marred hand is an everlasting memory that latches onto the back of the mind for many years before showing itself once more. Like salt on the wounds it severs and burns, breaking the walls that a broken mind worked so hard to build. Within seconds, that small memory so carefully hidden becomes the major weakness of that person's mind. Fingers tighten, almost as if trying to push it out, forget the moments of pain that flash within their soul.
Staring at the same photograph I feel...nothing. Absolutely nothing. I am immune. Then my fingers relax, loosening up to let the picture drop from their grasp and float down slowly in the air. Trees and leaves bristled by as the wind blows and the salt that burned the wounds lands carefully within the small blades of grass, facing upward, shining against the depleting sun.
Why am I doing this? Why does each day pass me by and yet I still sit here, looking out to the world as if I were little more than an observer, unable to join in? It can't be long until I can rejoin humanity. At least, I hope it's not.
Athlete - The Outsiders (Live)
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