Andante

There's a brief moment every morning, when I do not remember the weight of my chest. Like a heart in mourning, rising from sleep in blissful oblivion and forgetting its loss just long enough to know peace. It makes the comedown crueler, somehow, and yet how you live for that short pocket of air between your lips. I try to barrel into a day, thinking if I keep running, I can remain ignorant, thinking if I do not acknowledge my bleeding limbs they will work as intended. Sometimes I can buy myself an hour. But when the bar has been lowered into murky waters on fire, an hour can look like Elysium. 

I know this specter too well, remember its heavy shroud and cloying desperation, its detrimental whispers. Know how the hours pass, how I wake up in the middle of the night with an itch that will not leave me alone and in morning cannot rise from under the covers. I know the temptation of eternal sleep, its one offering. But I'm not looking for your prizes. 

This is all the attention you'll get today. You get this one acknowledgment of your existence, before I was you out of my hair, run you out of my house, before I meet someone better who knows what it is to love, I have, despite the odds, decided to move on and be something else moving forward. 

I don't have any answers. But neither do you. So I'm done
hearing
you
out.