sometimes the wind blows at the right moment across my face and i hear the whisper of voices from the past murmuring dark secrets hidden in the depths of the ocean. secrets of pain and of pleasure, secrets that pass through the generations of my family like a birthright and it is in the the most quiet of moments that i remember them all, etched inside of my mind and my heart, and there that they gather, collecting like stones in my pocket until someday when i will find myself wading through the water, weighted down when the tide rolls in. when that moment comes, like so many of my ancestors i will sink quietly and forgotten into my watery grave and pass on the whispers of my sorrow to another.
*
there are the days, the warmest and lightest summerdays, when i sit somewhere in a dark house shivereing, heaped in blankets and a cup of tea cradled between my two shaking hands. those days i call myself mad and walk between the walls of my home listening to the voices of the dead which surround me, hearing music no one else can and seeing things in a world that noone else can fathom into exsistence and i tryto convince myself that this madness will pass, and it always does. the thoughts and the sounds, the emotions all seem to float away and leave me to pick up the pieces of the latest episode and i am left unbothered for monthes until once again i caught unawares and i am lost again in the sea of insanity.
i always try to tell myself this will be the last time, this one was the worst because it was the last, but i know that i amlying only to myself, and i dont even do a very good job of it.

a very beautiful vignette..well done

thank you. you taught me a new word.