Casey Gilfillan

A sadness accompanies, drifting along like a shadow cast behind. The days closing in like jagged teeth of a chewing mouth, swift and terminal to light. The melancholy navigates, the winter brings me to center. It cleanses in the way of a cold fright, rejuvenates like a defibrillator. My body wallows, my mind is free to wander and exploit the disconnect. 

What am I even talking about? People, I feel so far from them.

I am so far away, submerged underneath and unable to pierce the surface. As though my fingers and hands are no longer attached to my arms, nor responsive to the commands of my brain, I am held down by my own inaction. I am still, unmoving and struck by my own naivety. Where am I going, how did you all get there? Please, reach your hand through and pull me out. I am here, wrapped in the occult grasp of distance. My hands, floating away and further out, are wrapped around the chord, they threaten to pull. 

They tense and then loosen. They keep on towards the glowing hue.

The flame has been hushed, lulled to sudden erosion. Gone with the pinch of two fingers, not at all beckoned by the rhythmic snapping of the same. Convinced it was not necessary, I continued on under the bleak fog illuminated by a muted, pale beam. Casting through like a portal to an unreachable place, it hangs sternly above all movement. I am beckoned, my hands reach out.