Hot cup of tea,
white lines waving and dancing.
Textbook in hand,
and I guess all I can feel is some sort of intrigue.
And sadness. Memories come back.
It's a nostalgic feeling, really.
It's been years since I've felt this particular sadness.
It's not the same sadness as watching your favorite character dies.
It's not the same sadness as when your favorite show ends.
It's not the same.
I can't quite describe it.
It's like a calling.
Something itching in the back of your mind.
It promises you a sort of control,
some form of protection.
It was a bit odd because it hurt.
It made me feel alive.
-It felt good.-
It started small.
I chose tools.
What works, what doesn't.
What heals, what scars.
How to clean, how to sterilize.
-Cleanliness was an irony.-
I didn't turn away.
I relished it.
I made it part of me.
Hatred and anger fueled it.
I embraced it.
Welcomed it like a long lost friend.
-And I cursed it just as badly.-
Ellipsis. What a cop