Photograph by astonishing Pierre Debusschere.
Today is never enough. Or is it?
Right now. Immediately. Too fast and too soon. The pain is alive at this very moment. Time has become obsolete. The space between me and you is small but it feels like I can’t touch you. The pain slowly finds its way to my head and it isolates me from you. You are no longer here. We can no longer communicate. I feel the solitude. I seek for silence. I hide from the light. I close my eyes.
I finally arrive to my mind’s projection of the outside world. I hear the city pulsing, singing and happening. I hear the hurry and the laughter. I hear the ambulance and it suddenly my stomach feels sick. I know it’s time to find a different position. I become more and more aware of my own sensations and all that is left to do is to pay attention to every single one of them. I contemplate the art of being alive. The room’s angles and lines, colors and shadows, all come together and I can see them through blurry eyes. I find myself re-reading old lyrics in my head and giving them new meanings. I find solutions while being trapped inside the cage that this pain has created. It’s exhausting yet exquisite. What is the difference between the hours and the minutes? My nervous system feels tired and it’s time to change positions again.
Today’s migraine does not matter anymore. I have welcomed it and I salute it. Tomorrow’s migraine terrifies me. Because I am sure of its return. I know I won’t have enough time to prepare myself. I will walk down the street wondering about my sore heels, about that last conversation and the unsent message, but behind each one of these thoughts is where tomorrow’s migraine resides. What will I miss this time? Maybe the crying baby, the angry driver, my beloved sunshine or your smile.