I’d almost forgotten that feeling I once got after every film ending.
after every heart-pounding climax and serene equilibrium and rolling credits,
it had once left my skin a foul sort of sensation I couldn’t place,
like a dread, a buzz of lingering adrenaline maybe?
If such a sensation could be so foul.
I’d forgotten, because I didn’t feel that anymore.
Not until recently,
and only now in my, not old, but older and wiser years,
I come to understand it as the
sensation of reality seeping back into my skin,
after such a narrative,
such a story,
such a storm of emotions,
comes a blank day,
of no sun, no wind, no rain,
just bleak reality.
And though I am older now, I still cannot
bring to terms if it was a sensation I very much
or if it was dread indeed,
and in dread I buried a loathing for reality.