dopamine, it was the dopamine and this is the crash.

I'd really like to turn the lights off now, and resolve to stay in bed, sitting and looking out the darkened windows, just let the ambient light outside filter in, like early strands of white hair when you're still way off thirty. I'll turn up the fan a bit higher because I need the cold, and the opening screech as its blades come to life will be the opening riff for the rest of August and Everything After. They say blackholes have gravity so strong that even light cannot escape it and this room is so black, not entirely to be blind but black enough to miss the light of late afternoons in Ateneo during Sundays and summer weekends. I find myself being pulled down. As the chill picks up, I lie down and stare at the ceiling I know is there but cannot see. I'm only pulling myself inside myself in this dark.

Some kind of dam broke apart over the weekend, right at that moment I was still sorting out my thoughts, a mid-year inventory of various psychological disturbances and uncategorized learned behaviors. I never learned how to swim, and I guess there never really was a conscious effort to try to, when the dam water came rushing over. I could hear your laughter in my mind, crystal and almost there, as I tumbled along with the current and deeper and drowning.

My eyes will get used to the darkness in a while, then perhaps the shadows will get more defined, see them pooling into each other and as it gets colder, the contrast of black against black gets more noticeable. The sensation of sinking that I'm sinking deeper in my bed gets stronger.