Teenage Conundrum

Toss. Turn. Blink. Breathe. Stare ahead. Surrender. Parched lips. Pitter Patter. A slap in the face from a pillow that got tired of drying tears aroused the screams I had silenced. They came together imitating Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream and in a stern voice whispered words in a language I alone understood – “ Be. Beyond the reach of the ordinary.” Here she is now, writing about the ordinary. Lost in the vast sea of thoughts lapping the folds of our minds, going on and on as life goes on, some ideas come through in re-iterated waves of déjà vu, others don’t make it to the shore. I like to imagine them in a circular room that is whiter than the purest white you have come across, the squeaky clean glass floors reflecting glittering lights from the chandelier above. There are identical wooden doors with intricate sculpturing all around the room , locked away behind each door is a lost trail of thought. Who do these trails lead to ? The guy in House Gryffindor