Friday, September 9, 2011

Another day to love

On one of those low pressured afternoons, I decided to have cigarettes and vodka for lunch.  Because I was in a rigor mortis state of mind.  I was depressed, an oppressive pain like I'm breathing deoxygenated air.  My head felt heavy.  I dragged my body through the streets.  My voice, when I found it, was flat.  I felt removed, yet unable to remove myself.  I sweat, my body smelled like rotting garbage and I couldn't care less.  Not even when the wind blew did I lift my head to acknowledge its gesture.  It was as if my body had been dumped in the grave and I was standing on top, looking down.  I recognized the thing below as my body, but it wasn't me.  I didn't mind the scorching hot air.  I could have sat there until I evaporated, except I had to go.  Had to.  It was storming.  I didn't mind driving through the thunderstorm, seeing nothing in front of me except  torrents of rain splattering against the windshield.  It felt real.  I didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't stay.  I would die, suffocate and die in the hurt if I stay.

Then I remembered the children.  Their hugs, their laughs, their attempts to tickle me.  I remembered them, as they are, with open arms running to me.

So I turned my heavy body around and headed home, to fight for another day to love.

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