darksilenceinsuburbia:

Wilhelm Sasnal. Shoah (forest), 2003. Oil on canvas.

and here

You leave with relief because people’s smiles had started to become maniacal and the room was spinning and you could feel yourself becoming fainter and weaker and the effort of keeping the glazed look off your face was becoming too much. And the thought of going home makes your throat constrict and your eyes water, so you head to the river and walk, walk until your heart is beating in time with your steps instead of pounding in your ears. And you chastise yourself for leaving and for the way you looked, the way you spoke, and all of the easy ways out you’ve ever taken. The city falls behind you but it’s still so loud, so fluorescent, but if you imagine hard enough then the hum of traffic sounds like the ocean. So you keep walking, and you breathe, and you wish you could run but your body is so heavy and your will so weak. And you compose a million messages knowing you’ll never send them and you remember just how easy saying goodbye is. And you’ve walked far beyond your way home but the lights are so bright that way and the river is calm here so you pace, backwards and forwards, trapped in a loop, wishing someone was there but willing the rest of the world to please be quiet. And you walk more, hoping for the strength to cry. Walk more, knowing no tears will come.