By Maxwell Laughlin
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Avous:
A blind belief that things will work out.
(Used similarly to hopefully or have faith)
Toska:
Boredom, melancholy or yearning. More of a
concept than a word.
The monsters outside are so much scarier
than the ones under my bed and yet, for some reason, time and time again I am
lured away from the safety of my room into the looming void of possibilities.
An infinite expanse for me to take a hold of.
And.
Yet.
I.
Can't.
Inevitably i find myself wandering into
that murky fog, I end up stumbling blindly onto the edge. This is where my mind
turns numb.
I wake up falling. No ground to feel and no
light to find any. Even the air whipping past my face seems to be empty.
And yet it is the lack of input that drives
me to comfort. All alone, falling through that abhorrent wind, with nothing but
sound to guide me.
After what feels like forever, the unending
metronome of wind in my ears stops. I cant pinpoint when I stop falling, all I
know is that I have.
I open my eyes to realize that nothing
happened. No void, no wind. Nothing. I find myself back in my bed, waiting for
someone to find me
Someone does come, eventually, at least.
He is no one to the world, but everyone to
me.
He gets me up off the grass and up onto my
feet.
I start moving, slowly at first, but eventually I
regain my stride.
I keep moving forward until it hurts, the
world has become a blur around me and I am unable to stop my legs from moving.
Fully conscious but unable to stop, I watch
myself become a background character in my own life.
Taking hold of opportunities that leap into
my lap has always has been one of my many downfalls.
My life is full of those moments where I
could turn myself around, do something positive for myself
and yet I'm completely unable
And it seems that once more my life has
gone barreling ahead of me.
It appears that my life has started to
morph from a mural, comprised of stories to be told and used to inspire, into a
collection of my shortcomings and mistakes
But through all of my mistakes I have
learned one thing.
I.
Will.
Be.
Here.
Everywhere and nowhere, I will be here. For
someone or for no one, here I sit, and here I sleep, accompanied by ghosts of what’s
yet to come
About the Author
Maxwell Laughlin is in his first semester at ICC. Max is an avid reader and enjoys writing poems. He lives on the north side of Peoria, Illinois. Max likes to write poems about his past or present experiences because it lets him connect with his work and really make it his own.