Feel inspired. Feel the words go from thoughts through your veins down into your fingers and then magically spit out on the keyboard into coherent sentences that the people will want to read. That’s it. Just feel inspired. But how can I feel inspired when I can’t even muster the courage to stumble out of bed and pull myself together; when in the mirror and see a shell of my former self, that not even age has touched me.
Feel re-born. Be someone who can write this story, someone who is strong enough to look in any reflection and be able to say who is staring back at them. Instead I look in my reflection and see the emptiness that has done nothing but consumed me from the inside out. Feel re-born; something that is so simple, has complicated my life and made me ponder even what kind of cereal I should be eating. Not that I eat much cereal to begin with. But choices that were once easy, have now put me in a physical stutter. I feel my hands reach for the key board, but at the same time, they only shake back and forth by my sides while I stare at the blank Microsoft document that sits across the room from me. And like two young lovers at their first school, I approach nervously, looking around, wrapping my arms around myself, looking for something or someone to distract me. But before I know it, there we are, standing next to one another, just a girl and her laptop.
Feel important. When my hands touch the small keys, they begin to fly. Nothing really, just some sentences that I am thinking in my head, no order, no titles, just words flowing from my mouth like vomit that is about to drown me. I can feel the words filling my lungs and the breaths of air escaping my lips. But before my eyes close, I think of his face. I think of the jaw line that I trace with my lips at night before we fall asleep entangled in each other’s arms.
Feel loved. His face, the one that seems so familiar when I see him, and yet when apart I seem to only remember the fuzzy outline of an angel that has down to me from God himself to save me of my sins. The slight red in his cheeks when we glance at each other from across the kitchen, makes my heart flutter and skip a beat. Each time death almost grabs me, but as I look away, my heart goes back to normal. So then would love be the death of me? Would I looking at him, remembering the kiss he gave me for the first in my room after so many thoughts about it; could this be me slowly committing suicide? With each kiss, a breath is taken from my body and inhaled into his creating this intoxicating high like cocaine. My words have no meaning, so we stay silent in the warming almost heating comfort of each other’s arms. In our silence, I can hear his breathing, and see his heart pump blood through his veins so fiercely maybe I was killing him too.
Never feel alone. With him gone, but only a few hours away I feel utterly alone in this cold room that I know can be hot. While the temperature drops outside, my room will only warm as we kiss in the lamp light. But now, with him gone miles away, although not but 20 minutes away truly, I can feel the cold seep through the walls and lay thick in my bed next to me.
Always feel needed. While the cold sits in my bed like a tick waiting in the tall grass for its next bloody meal, I sit across the room with my phone. His voice on the other line warms the spot that I sit in as well as the coals that tremble in my heart.
Never give up hope. Hope that I am strong enough to tear down the thick walls that I have built to surround only myself. Or hope that he has the strength to climb over them and join me on the other side. For him, I will try to tear myself down, and lay flat so that he may see all of me and all that I am. But it hurts, the walls have attached themselves firmly to the flesh of my heart, and as they tumble to the ground, my heart begins to bleed. Good thing he has a band aid.
Always feel loved because you are beautiful, because you are stong enough to make a difference, in your life or others. Always feel remembered, because even when you are not in the room, someone still wishes you were. Always hold on, because through the darkest times, comes the brightest light.