And there I was, eyes like a nimbus cloud, head facing the earth. All 80kg of man and testosterone. There I was by the aisle of a supermarket, sobbing like an infant for no reason. Pre-birthday blues maybe, but not really. I wanted an answer for a temporal nothingness, I wanted to rid myself of me. And maybe crying was the means to an end. Why do we tell people to stop crying as though it will alleviate their pain? What if the pain is intangible and the tears are simply reflexive?

I walked out of the supermarket and there was a nimbus cloud in the sky when my head faced the heavens. I looked to God for answers, and as I cried my words, the clouds cried into my mouth. I am not on a search for happiness, and the idea of a search for self has become an exhausted thought. I am not looking for myself anymore, and it is probably because I have found me. Or maybe I haven’t.

God probably answered as he always does, but I did not hear. Or maybe the answer was that there was no answer. Maybe the chemical imbalance in my brain had other ideas. I was not feeling lonely or unloved. I just was: the way I am when I am like this; void of a problem to touch but with many intangible problemites swimming in the pool of my subconscious.

I had to restrain myself from crying for the fear of “are you okay?”. But in my room, where the doors are shut and the only voices I hear are the ones in my head, my pillow will be soaked. I will arise tomorrow, feeling better than I was today. And I will hope that the visitor who lives in me, does not remind me of a certain intangible despair.

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