Forever Desiring the Stillness of a Quiet Mind

A recent journal entry of fiction or truth. You be the judge.

It is night, and they lay alone with their head resting on a small pillow pressed against the arm of the couch. A window was slightly open to listen to the rain, letting the increasingly colder air fall in and settle around them. The dampness of the air brushed against their face. Piano jazz plays softly through the Klipsch speakers resting on the record cabinet, still open from the earlier ritual of choosing music from the growing collection of vinyl. The only other sound was the rain, striking everything beyond the open window—every surface, every leaf, every forgotten thing left outside, everything not alive. Casual rolls of thunder persist from storms that passed through hours ago, and quick flashes of distant lightning illuminate the windowpane, briefly silhouetting the trees as they soak in the splendor of the cold rain. Their head tilts slightly, resting their temple against the back of the couch. They feel the outside temperature dropping, along with their heart rate. They crave, more than ever, the stillness of a silent mind—the same stillness that the darkness holds just inches from them. One of the cats hurriedly jumps onto the lamp stand behind their head, then onto the cold tiled window sill, drawn to the smell, as cats do when a window is opened. Their fur gently stirs in the breeze, which has begun to slow. They know this moment won’t last as long as they would like, and they hope it becomes one of those rare, obscure moments that a person remembers years later. If only there were a way to make that happen. Right now, it is so peaceful that death no longer seems frightening.