Hailstone

Life can be hard sometimes. Like a rock that is hard bearing down on your chest. But at the same time liquid, unpredictable. Still cold nevertheless.

I cross streets, their colours seem off. Not black or white, just grey. Or greyer than usual. Invisible stones, people walking by, in my shoes, on my chest, tied to my back.

Would shedding those stones make me someone else? Do I have to carry them around always?

It’s only the few moments of fleeting and for-no-apparent reason childish happiness that keep me up. And the nostalgia for them that keeps me shuffling forward.

Waiting for the next one to come. It will be buried under hard stone after a time, I know. And then rise again, and be buried again.

I’ll be here, waiting, shuffling. Who knows what will induce next.

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About L. Woolf

Sometimes the wolf and the lamb are friends, living in peace drinking (mostly cider). But there are those times when that balance is ignored. When that battle is on, a new blog post will magically appear. And pop corn. While all this is transpiring inside my head, in the outside world I am a student of Psychology with a particular interest in Neuro-psychology (I always wanted to know what made things tick). Helping people out there and listening to their life stories helps me live through and with the battle raging inside me. So this won't only be about me. This will be thoughts and stories of us all. View all posts by L. Woolf

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