Late Night Ramblings of an Insomniac
Chaos. To others, it is a disjointing nuisance. An untamed havoc running amok.
To me, it’s warmth. It’s a hug. I’ve never been close to my mother, so forgive me when I say that it is what I perceive their love to be. It’s consistent. It won’t let you down. In a sea of blinding whiteness, it is a little speck that if anywhere else would have been nothing but being there made it your everything. That speck befriended your very soul.
Chaos is my anchor. It keeps me tethered to this world. Where my skin and flesh fail, it’s static molds itself around my soul and keeps my form. To think that we aren’t so different from balloons.
If I’m the air in the balloon,
Chaos’ static is the balloon,
and it is the string…
Who is holding the string?
Who has chaos in their grip,
in the palm of their hands?