T Minus 20 Days (and counting): Pulses

Are there even words to describe this feeling?

 


 

Finishing a story about “this one time when I was skydiving”, exasperated, his arms swung back passed his hips, “Who is this girl?!”  Catching himself in his accidental display of admiration and wonderment, he tried to recover, “You play guitar? You’re a yoga instructor?  You’ve gone skydiving?  I mean…??”  (All in the middle of a full classroom.)

And that’s when I sat back and considered Holy shit.  I guess I haven’t been giving myself credit; I guess I have been living my life as fully as I have been able to in spite of starting a career of children at such an age.

His small statement was like a blinking billboard of reality and it sat with me for… well, I guess it still sits with me.


 

Aware of the increasing tension rising in my chest, I excused myself sooner than I normally would.

But his house is emptying.

I packed a reusable grocery bag of shirts he wouldn’t take that I’ll inevitably sleep in.

On the drive back, I surprised myself by crying suddenly.  My makeup.

I dabbed the water from the corners of my eyes and filled my lungs so that my chest expanded as wide as it was when two babies were inside of me.  My expiration carried sound with it.  A heavy, vibrating sob that permeated my body and that’s when I wondered the last time I’d made that sound.

Tears receded, siphoned by necessity, strongly encouraged through willpower.


My playlist reeks of melancholy and limbo, lulling the little pulses of emotion that suddenly appear and then disappear back into nothing.

Nothing.

Empty.

Presence.

the only thing that ever was and will be.

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