Heavy skies eclipse the day's plans. The week's plans. Inside the warm apartment, my head is stuffed with cotton balls and cold viruses; I can barely be bothered to fight them. Sometimes our bodies tell us when it's time to stop. Contrary to popular belief, I am not slow to listen.
An arm full of scars and a mind full of ghosts, she is lost in this world and scrambling to get out. When you've fought for so long, it's difficult to believe there actually will be relief around the corner. Suddenly, my world is filled with people who are struggling for air, each in their own personal hell and I wonder how we all ended up in these places. We had such promising futures, when we were young.
Yet the relief in recognition is short. I feel my body and mind separate, my face smiling, my legs carrying me to another social circle, but my self shrinking slowly and enclosing itself in a thick shell and closing off. I go through the motions, but all I really want is to sit on a rock in the ocean, staring at the ends of the earth.
Outside my window, the sun breaks through the thick clouds. I take my borrowed bike, roll through the streets where I once belonged, feel the wind blow softly through my hair. And rain, will make the flowers grow.
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