Wearing torn shoes doesn’t make me poor, it only makes me feel being poor when I realize that I am wearing torn shoes.
Sleep doesn’t show any sign of its presence, it’s been three days in a row. Eyes accompanied by dark circles, lousy and swollen. Lips dry, cracked around the corners just like the cheeks, skin pale and dull, hair losing the shine. Wondering if I even took a shower or washed my face in last few days. I try getting out of the bed, but fell on the ground, realized that I haven’t had any food too. For few moments I kept my head down on my knees, trying so hard to stop my eyes from shedding any more drop of tears. Slowly I lift my head and try to seek some support from the chair lying on the carpet. I pull myself up and with some cracking noise of my bones I stand on my feet. Slowly as I step towards the bathroom, the cracking of my bones appears to be serious, loud and painful but somehow I manage to reach and hold the white marble basin that now appears to be yellowish and then try to stand in front of the mirror for a while.
The stare at the mirror holds my breath. What have had happen to me? Eyes, skin, hair, lips everything is pale, dry and dead. Was I suppose to be like this? am I dying? or am I already dead?.
With so many questions and concerns the burden shoves my shoulders, it’s too heavy, it hurts and the pain kills me. I am a torn shoe, am I not? Sooner the burden take over and push me to fall, as I fall I hit my head with the wall. Drops of blood finds their way to my shirt through my face. My heart beats raises, I am aware of the fact that I am scared, the fear is trying to take over. The loneliness frightens me, how could I lose him? how could this ever happen? The emotional outburst brings tears to the sand like eyes. After few minutes of lying there I realize that the blood doesn’t clot, gathering the energy left in my rotting body I try to stand up very slowly making sure that I grabbed the door for the support. I look into the mirror, the mirror looks at me. No words not even a single one, just a stare on the wound and on the blood. I open the drawer, took out some cotton and put it on my wound, within seconds the cotton was soaked red.
I move to kitchen and took some ice cubes out from the refrigerator and put them on the wound. Ice melts quickly because of my body temperature, so I put more and more until the bleeding stops. I come back to the bathroom and I look into the mirror again.
Am I trying to find someone? someone one to talk to? Can I really find someone in the mirror?
I stare at me inside the mirror, I am a torn shoe, shredded, rubbed, threads pulled out, no comfort, no warmth, no life, just nothing left in it.
Mind plays tricks every moment of your life, makes you restless, nostalgic, crazy and I guess that’s when they start calling you a freak.