Golden days

It is bloody cold up here. My phone tells me it is 20 degrees, but all I feel this high up is the wind cutting my cheeks. The horizon is painted with a rich, reddish tint, contrasted by the black silhouettes of skyscrapers. The sound of the city fills the air; honking cars, an ambulance, barking dogs, and finally some dipshit blasting EDM from his window. All these noises are made by people.

Real human beings with their own entire lives, drama, laughter, sadness, anger, pain, and all the other bullshit that make up our short-lived experience on this ball of chaos. I just cannot wrap my head around the fact that every single one of those ants down there is like me, an entire story that takes a lifetime to read. What am I supposed to make of that? If everyone is like me, then why does it all look so easy for them? I am not like them. I am me, too much, even for myself. I am so overwhelmed by being me, that at times even forming a proper thought proves too trying. What is the point of it all if even the basest human function, thought, is too troubling? My mind is not making sense and I am not making sense and this world is not making sense.

I am staring into the abyss, trying to figure out what is on the other side. Is it opportunity? Freedom? Selfishness? Pain? The end? Perhaps all of these at once. One step is all it takes to make everything okay. They say that a thousand-mile journey starts with a single step. But what if you can avoid the journey all together with that single step? I am exhausted by just thinking about the road ahead. This life is not for me. This will be my last step, and I will be better for it. This is it, no turning back now…

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I wake up. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. It feels more like I have started thinking again after a whole lot of nothing. Everything around me is white. Or, well, that is also not right. It feels like there is an absence of anything. No sound, no ground, no light or sky. Suddenly, I feel a rumbling inside me. It feels like I am starving, but not for food. This craving is for something else, though I can’t quite say what for. The rumbling is evoking images in my mind. Familiar scenes of golden fields of barley and the feeling of grass between my toes. Scenes of sitting in a car seat with the sun beating down on the window, creating a warm and sleepy atmosphere. My heart is aching, and a profound sadness clenches my heart and squeezes it tight. I would be short of breath if there was any air to breathe here. There was a time where life was a gift, and I was too ignorant to appreciate it. I want to go back there. If only I could go back, I would do better. I would not let this gift go to waste. Maybe things could have been different. Maybe, things don’t have to end in a drop and a splat. And then maybe, this time, I can be happy.

My body feels heavy. Gravity holds its grip on me once again. I try to open my eyes, but exhaustion refuses to let me. My back, legs and arms are tickled by short blades of grass. I push my fingers into the earth and feel the cold dirt crawl under my nails. The earth feels cool on my back while the sun warms my face. The smell of freshly cut grass enters my nose, reminding me of when my father used to mow the lawn and I would be his little helper. A wave of nostalgia passes over me, sweeping me into its intoxicating torrent. Am I dreaming? In the distance I hear someone call out my name, but I am too tired to respond. The sound of a nearby creek is lulling me back to sleep. However, the creek is overshadowed by the sounds of steps growing louder and louder. Someone is standing over me, casting a shadow on my face. “Wake up lazy! Everyone has been looking for you. We have to go home.” I open my eyes and see a familiar face staring at me with a childlike smile. A warmth welling up inside forces me to smile back. “Hey, you.”