Breathing Words

I'm acting against what I know is right, I'm staring into the eyes of my love. I'm being attacked, I'm running freely and laughing with another. I'm experiencing the worst betrayal known to man, I'm letting go. I can feel.

Guilt traces through every ounce of me, dancing through my veins, in my heart, on my lips. Love lies in my eyes, stronger than stone, louder than the morning birds that greet me while I'm still in that 'am I actually alive' state. Pain pounds through me, and I feel my body succumb to each terrible hit. Joy dances across my skin, a laughter so true crossing my lips as my head falls forward and my body dances with it. Anger slaps into me as a fire lights within, downing glass after glass of water and soaking self in ice, still unable to drown it. Peace touches every part of my mind. Life is in me. The pages mend back together.

I pass a mirror and see my paper white skin, the dull blue painted under my eyes, I sigh. I dig through the fridge for something to eat, throw aside some fruit, pick up some yogurt, check the expiration date. It reads a day ago. I pick up a spoon, eating this is the closest I've gotten to taking a risk in months. I sigh.

I remember everything I need to do and shake two Advil into my hand. And another. Toss them down and pray for this headache to go away. Stress headaches-the most boring form of pain there is. At least there's medicine. Numb, numb, numb.

Food in hand I disappear again, back to the brilliant sunset and the colors so vivid they look fake, words pouring into me-or maybe it's me into the words, I'm never quite sure. The connection between them and I stronger than any I will ever feel towards a human. I'm dancing again with every part of me spinning, full of fresh air and new life. And I can feel everything.

I float on air as each word meets my eyes, as each story becomes mine, as each moment becomes real. As I reach that final page, that final word, the last moment, that fire within me fades but the embers remain.

The dull headache returns but I choose to ignore it as I pick up a pen and screech as fast as possible with the paper and ink.

Pen, paper, story's and I, we will never fall to dust, but only get a small coating over us. Each eventually to be forgotten by people and minds but by the world, oh no-we've left our mark on that. In this world we are everlasting.