I call them noises. They are everywhere. The reminder that I could become one of them tortures my spirit. Noises of various shapes and colors, noises nonetheless come and go and bring memories of a lonely kid with a dream. The lonely kid that used to talk to the stars at night and was convinced they could listen. Tears down the face right before going to bed when the questions were unanswered. Noises; more noises and years passing by like merry go round, noises. On the street, noises; by the park, noises; in the house, noises; in the news, noises; inside my brain… yes, noises all the time. That’s how I call them because they are real even though the doctor says they are only in my head. Is past ten and I can’t fall asleep. I turn the stereo on and the music plays:
“When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
the child is grown,
the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.”
Is it Irony? Perhaps, or maybe just a sign that these noises… well, these noises it’s all I have.