Not your average fluff. It follows the thoughts of someone who I believe is a very deep and thoughtful person. Please enjoy, and if you have a minute, reviews are always welcome.
To be alone with one's thoughts could be enlightening, beautiful, peaceful, and frightening, all at once. To be in your bed, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, just thinking, could either inspire you or drive you insane.
Which ever way it turned out though, he loved it.
It was how he got his adrenaline pumping. It was how he kept his head on straight. It was what kept him grounded to the world. It was what made him feel human.
For a while he called it meditating, until he learned that meditating meant clearing your mind. That was exactly what he wanted not to do. He wanted to drown himself in ideas, succumb to his mind, let his subconscious take over.
He fought with himself about whether to keep his eyes open or closed. Deciding on closed, he put his hands behind his head and breathed deeply, feeling the world around him. He was suddenly—and almost uncomfortably—aware of his heart beat.
Mortality. One of the things that plagued his brain. Why was he here? Why was he thinking these thoughts? Was someone watching him? What happened when his heart stopped beating? He didn't like to think about it, but these moments weren't about what he liked to do, they were about what he needed to do.
His heart.
Physically, his heart was perfectly normal. Physically, his heart was just beating along, keeping him alive, like it had for the past seventeen and a half years. Physically speaking, his heart was healthy, young, strong. But that's just what the eye could examine. Truly, whenever he thought about his heart, his mind wandered to the more symbolic sense.
Metaphorically speaking, his heart had been mangled. It had been lost for a long time. It had been hidden away. It had taken a beating… It had been broken. And then—suddenly, almost abruptly—it was found, pinned to his sleeves, and piece by piece, put back together.
Sometimes he wondered how he was able to do that; then he remembered.
He was plummeting towards rock bottom. His heart had been put away, until it was the very last thing he thought of. It was not his time for love; sometimes he doubted if it would ever be. And then, as if falling off the cliff wasn't bad enough, he hit the ground. He hit the ground hard.
His thoughts for the longest time were those of dread, fear, and mourning for the life he wish he could have and the security he had lost in an instant—but he wasn't one to cower from himself.
He moved on—as best as he could—and immersed himself in things that could busy his mind. For a while his thoughts were brief ones about school assignments and song lyrics before they were stopped as he slipped into sleep brought on unusually early by exhaustion, both mental and physical.
And then it happened. The moment he would recognize as the turning point for him, the place where the damage would slowly begin to reverse finally came. In one instant the pain ebbed and the fog lifted. For a long time, he would not know how or why this happened, just that it did, and that he was thankful for it.
He thought about that moment of realization, when the how and why became clear.
It had been through the teachings and therefore healings of another wounded, worn, hidden heart that he had been able to think clearly again, without his mind being attacked by memories that he could only wish not to come.
Another heart.
It was now part of him, and its owner was now very often the subjects of his anti-meditations. Another heart to talk to, to understand, to—dare he say it?—love.
He let the memories flood his mind, let the sweetness of those bits of time wash away any sour thoughts left lingering in his head from the long day…long week…long year…
He sighed.
Had he really started thinking about death tonight? Had his mind brought him from death to the absolute definition—epitome!—of life?
This is why he did this. To be alone with one's thoughts is a scary and wondrous thing. To hide from yourself is impossible, and—he was convinced, at least—that those who tried could be driven to insanity. He had nothing in his mind he wanted to suppress from himself, and nothing in his heart he wanted to contain from the world.
Not anymore.