Feel

Better. Soon.

Feel.

Waking up every morn with a 10-ton heel for a heart isn’t the good morning sane people receive. You take me on adventures every night, all of which I will never recall when consciousness arrives. Did we travel the world and explore every continent? You prefer the security of terra firma, my heart strings are tugged by what’s under them. Or did we rerun all the greatness we built while we were as one? Picking random bits from all wavelengths of the spectrum and forcibly hammering them together into a jigsaw of misfits, we always did liked it our way. Perhaps it was a collection of non-conversations and non-occurrences of a love in its death spiral. Your perfect little life encased in a snow globe and my imperfect little self looking in.

Better.

The fog of my mind swirls and fades, the sun has traversed most of the sky, done it’s toil and releases radiant embers illuminating with what’s left of her brilliance. As the weight that borne down slowly dissipates, my chest ceases to heave heavy and resumes its gentle, rhythmic rise and fall. My head settles in its usual inactive state of numb.

Soon.

Everyday, which each one melting into another, made to feel like a lifeless body being nailed and splayed upon a crossroad. Arms outstretched on one horizontal with the head, body and legs nested on the other. An ironic tribute to the Corpus Christi.