It’s strange how this state of mind leaves remainders of it even when it seems dormant. Sometimes I find myself headlessly injuring my body in some way even if there’s no surrounding grief. Maybe it’s just the acute desire to taste the world that makes me inadvertently feel the heavy pressures, the harsh textures.
This is the lightest side of Trygve, though it still carries its inherent intensity. It almost scared me when I’ve once found my hands reddening with blood after I was just trying dragging it along the walls when I was walking on the streets.
It wasn’t out of rage or any form of feeling that demanded such a cathartic release. It was plain desire to feel things, feel them physically. The rewarding part of it comes from the feeling that, yes, I’m alive. It’s the pride of knowing I’m feeling things, even if I’m getting myself dirt, even if it means consequences. I’m living, even if I get hurt. In fact, that’s what gives it a special spice.
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