Giving Up

My feet continued to become numb even under the fleece blanket. The sound of the waves was so loud it almost drowned out my own thoughts. I sniffed a little, either from the crisp wind or the tears I had shed earlier. The events of the day were becoming a blur. The wine remained in the refrigerator unopened. It was too late to bother opening it although the thought of it making my mind murky was rather appealing. I was sad. I was sad that I wasn’t there. I craved the laughter. I craved your hand giving mine a squeeze to steady me. I wanted to be there so I could be with you, my friend. I also wanted to be there to get lost in the fake happiness and false sentiments. I wanted to be the punch line, but my absence made me instead the butt of the joke. What thoughtless cruel things were said and brushed under the rug by those who once confided in me and cried to me and wanted my help? I didn’t think it malicious, simply all they were capable of. I wanted to cry and get it out, but I’d been stifling tears for so long that they just weren’t there. And then I just sat there lost. Not in thought, but in lack of thought. I don’t even know how much time passed. Either the cold had penetrated my skin and reached my bones or I had successfully rendered myself numb on the inside. There was no longer an ache or desire or longing or fear or sadness. There was just nothing. I was void of all feeling and emotion. I had become apathetic to my own state. And then a thought finally crossed my mind. I wondered if this is what it felt like to give up.

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