Terça-feira

I'm hurting, I'm lost.
Feeling I can't grasp anything solid within my reach, I keep falling and falling.
It's not rock bottom, but it isn't easy either. All the hurt is still here, all the loneliness, the will to quit, sometimes.
Stoping for a second, I feel so numb that time itself melts away; the loud voices, the conflict, the constant war and all the sorrow fade to a distant place, far from the hollow spot I find myself in. It's awfully quiet here, more peaceful.
I'm drowning, I'm fading more and more, however, life around me stays on it's orbit. I'm drowning, looking restlessly for the bottom of the ocean and I can still see their faces, hear their voices. The rotines of their beings unaltered. I'm crumbling right in front of them, but not screaming yet. Until I am, they'll keep on walking, leaving me unnoticed.
Looking beyond them, I find you hurting aswell, falling. You are drowning too, all alone, in your own way. We are all drowning, we are all falling apart. If we're there, we're all fading together in blissful oblivion.
So maybe we could lean on each other, instead of making it worse, while we also carry our own demons. We all have them we're all miserable in a way, but we are all joyful at times. There is still hope, this isn't despair speaking.
I'll carry you home, hoping you'll do the very same, for me.