I've stared at this Ferris Wheel for hours, moments, days...
feels like years.
I never wanted to get on,
but I wasn't given a choice.
I know it will go up, but I also realize it will come down...
slowly...
painfully slowly.
The view must be beautiful,
so beautiful it will hurt.
I won't be able to breathe...
I'll barely be able to see...
I'll want it to come off it's hinges,
to roll slowly into the water...
to sink into silence.
One car at a time,
one click at a time,
one moment at a time.
But it won't do me that favor.
It can't.
How many cars are there?
How many times will it go around?
How many clicks until I can get off?
I can't tell.
I don't know.
It seems like an eternity.
Is it really as slow as it looks...
Yes, it is.
The fear doesn't go away.
The sadness never ends.
The view just changes (but only a little).
Car by car,
click by click,
moment by moment,
slowly...
painfully.
Who knew?
Who knew that a glorious fantastical ride could cause this much pain.
If my only choices were to never get on,
or never be able to get off...
I guess I'd choose the ride.
************
I'm on the Ferris Wheel now.
I'm crying,
or it's raining.
I can't tell which.
Maybe both.
Maybe the whole world is crying.
Maybe just me.
It stops at the top.
Oh God.
Please help me God.
The car rocks gently,
then harder with my sobs.
I can't control it.
I can't make it stop.
the tears...
the rocking...
the ride...
I want it to start moving again,
but I also don't.
I just want down.
I just want off.
I just want out.
I snap pictures quickly.
Maybe I'll be able to look at them,
and not feel terrified.
Maybe they'll look beautiful...
someday.
someday.
Until then,
all I can do is hold on
One tick at a time.
One car at a time.
one moment...
at a time.
The Ferris Wheel of grief.
written by
(and ridden by)
Carrie Windham
7/20/2018