There is no pain, you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying.
When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look, but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child has grown, the dream has gone.
I have become, comfortably numb.
-Pink Floyd. The Wall, disc 2. Comfortably Numb.
Today, I lay, stretched out upon my bed, listening to Pink Floyd. I was mostly just trying to gear down after my art exam, but I felt too sick to rest: I have a bad cold, and as a result, I'm having trouble breathing. People think that I'm healthier then I really am, because I always smile, and hold in my coughs. I don't like to show my weaknesses. Even as I try to explain how ill I feel, I hold back the hoarseness of my voice, and force myself to be as vibrant as I am when at my best. Sometimes, though, I feel as if I'm fading out. When I'm tired, and I wish I could die, I always see swirls of blue and green behind my eyelids. It annoys me, in a way, because it sounds like a cliche; blue and green swirls. But it's true. I don't know if I'm the only person who sees the swirls; perhaps everyone could if they looked for them. You have to look so hard; stare at the backs of your eyelids, and focus. Forget the world. Between our world and oblivion is peace. The swirling reminds me of Pink Floyd's music. The way the guitar soars, seeming to fly high above the music. The way the notes seem so lonely. More then anything, my half world recalls to me the song Comfortably Numb. In my opinion, it's the most beautiful song they've ever written. It gives me the sensation of floating away on my back in a gentle current. There is no world outside of my body; just the feeling of drifting, as a bird calls piercingly from somewhere high above. If the bird is the guitar, gliding and diving and climbing upon the air, then I am the piano; holding the rest of the music up, but never taking wing. If there is one thing I know, it is that I will never fly like the bird; I will drift along beneath it, like a leaf carried on the water. The bird will sing, and feel the wildness of the wind upon it's feathers, while I drift through time, unaffected by my own life. I am not the hero of my story, I'm just a bystander. This may sound sad, but to me, it's alright. I'm at peace with this fact about myself. Once--maybe it was yesterday?--I would have wanted to join the bird. I would have made wings from wax, and followed it. I wanted to be a star, once. Now, I know I won't be. I can't lead, and I can't follow. So I will write down the stories of others, and be content with who I am. Do not pity me. I have no wings, but in my own way, I will fly. Even in my darkest hour, I will continue to float. I feel no pain; I am comfortably numb.