As a child, I could remember crawling into a ball. I felt myself shrinking in my bed as the room grew bigger, the walls stretched, and the roof went higher. It’s as if the scope of my vision expanded to remind me how no matter how big I grow, I will always feel small when the thunder strikes.
The sound of thunder is akin to that of a drunken rage, quaking in my heart and robbing me of all my sanity. All I could do at that time was repeat the silly mantra, “have confidence in yourself” over and over again to numb the pangs of fear and maybe with the power of telekinesis, the room can feel small again.
Over silly and insignificant matters, I would hear the loud thuds and see the flash of a fist destroying whatever it could in its path. All the pieces of shattered glass and stone render the slow fragmentation of the child’s sanity.
In that moment, the child knew that only those words could save him.
But the child didn’t know better. Mere words cannot quiet the storm. They cannot break him from the grasp of the nightmare that just occured and so he finds refuge in his daydreams.
When I could not be comforted, I imagine you by my side, holding me and telling me that I will be alright.
But I know that you are not there. So let me indulge in the fascimile of your presence comforting me in times of almost certain death.
I need you in my nightmares. I need you when my heart tries to break from its cage. I need you when the sweat from my neck drenches my pillow. You are the only one in these figments of my imagination through whom I can feel comfort.
Photo by M.T. ElGassier (Unsplash)