Concrete out in the dark of Vossden in autumn was cold, through the sock covered feet as I go overboard with the mental representations at the interior of my soul. Just to focus on something else for a few moments than the more complex feelings.
Meanwhile in the reality of my motel room, I take a deep, shuddering breath and scrub at my face with the back of my hand. The sides of it were still damp, but the emotional wave had crested and begun to recede from the edges like a rebounding ripple.
"Hollow, what a familiar feeling after a cry. Now pull yourself together."
With effort and lots of self accusation, I got up and walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. Reddened eyes and some puffing but otherwise I looked… normal enough.
Not like someone who'd just had their composure thoroughly shattered by a damned text message. Or who in the deepest parts of their soul started to mix up so many things about who they are, after so many years.
