Context: listening to cairo time on iPhone/Spotify, noon on Tuesday closing my eyes while I type this.  The piano notes feel like heartbeats, emotional beats.  A different muscle is working here.  It’s strength is in holding back.  Like a bricklayer slowly adding pieces to the wall.  One by one he strengthens the it’s ability to hold things back.  Keep intruders out, emotions at bay.  Emotions like arrows.  Bullets pierce and penetrate the already open scars.  They wall keeps the impure air out.  Poisoned air that may aid in the putrefaction of the wounds.  

Interrupted.

I can sense when a single piano key is pressed.  When chords are used.  Chords are needed for more strength.  But this wall cannot hold back the rain.  The tears.  Perhaps the notes are like raindrops, slowly hitting the ground.  

I don’t know anymore what I’m trying to keep out or hold back.  I just know that I’m trying to keep it from growing.  Like the evil spirits in a Miyazaki film.  What is in that spirit?  Is it a mix of many emotions are a single seed that has germinated.  

I remember a feeling from my childhood.  A desire to run, to escape to a dream world.  A Disney World.  One that didn’t exist.  Perhaps this is where I placed myself.  In a world where no-one belonged.  

The piano has merged into a harmony with a string and wind instrument.  There is plucking and bow strokes on the cello and violin.  

The emotional pain doesn’t feel like grief.  It’s a feeling like something has gone wrong, something has been done to me that was wrong and cannot be reversed.  It seems expected, unsurprising.  I feel unprepared.  I lack the tools to deal with this emotion.  I don’t understand it.  Just know it’s there.  

I can’t watch the news.  Too depressing.  I remember watching confrontations among boys and getting extremely worked up.  Looking at the sick, elderly and unhappy, the mentally disabled causes me sadness.

As a child I could make myself cry.  It was a little trick I did to make people think I had acting skills.  I would reach inside and think of a sad feeling.  Most of the time it was my father’s death.  I’d hold onto it for a second or two.  Falling asleep here.