The sirens of the trucks

The sirens of the trucks awoke me, in between the twilight of consciousness and delirium came thoughts of 'them.' Them, in the truck, their frantic pace, their sweat, their breath working to preserve the air from leaving others.

I wondered if it was you? I remembered your breath, your mouth trying to revive me. We were engrossed in sweat, and in my tongue, your taste remains; there were no sirens, only the wind and the murmur of your voice as you said, 'stay with me.' We were animals that night, with the stars and the trees gazing at us. Only flesh, blood, and sweat beneath our breath.

The sound of the fan distracts me, even if a moment ago, it guided me into unconsciousness. There was no desire, no passion, and certainly no ‘you’ then. What will happen to 'them'? Sirens have become so common now. Their clamorous sound becomes muted in the paralysis of their familiarity. They only matter to those they carry and those who knew them. To the rest of us, they just awaken the ghosts of the past as they rush future ones towards the hospital.

Another distraction, this time, it is an engine roaring, racing down the street. Some people are losing their lives while others beg to have theirs heard, acknowledged, because worse than being on that truck dying is knowing no one would care if you were. It is true then that indifference is louder and more piercing to the soul than hysteria. Their raucous tells them they are here while forcing us to ignore them even more.

The entire cacophony from the outside is resounding. Quietness comes at a premium these days, especially if it is of the mind. Two clicks and cold air begins flowing, the cracking of the floor from the weight of my feet reminds me of the heaviness of my soul. I'm not sure how long I will be able to carry it without you. As it was you that saw me, you the one that would care if it is my time to ride in the truck, who knows, it may even you who'd ride with me, murmuring in my ear 'stay with me.'