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I lie on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, dog snuggled into my side. I feel my heart beating in my chest, hear it beating in my ears. Something invisible is sitting on my chest. It feels tight, and I can’t breathe. I take a deep breath in, and out. Repeatedly. Yet, I still feel hungry for air.
Why do I feel like this? Why is there chaos inside me in my quiet apartment? Why is that voice in the back of my mind crying ‘help me, help me, help me,’ on a constant loop. The little girl in the corner is gone, thanks to a boy’s love and snacks, but the scars remain.
Images and voices of the past haunt me. Why? I understand them…but can I forgive them? Why do these things cause me such pain? Everyone is haunted by something, mine pales in comparison to others. Still, I am haunted.
My bones have been broken, and they did not heal right. I am crippled. I reach my arms out to those near, and shackle their ankles with chain and iron ball. Some walk about, carrying the weight, making their rounds. Others point a finger, placing the blame. Very few kneel, and look me in the eye.
This love of mine, he makes me weep. A future lit by the north star, our dreams await. He pulls me into him, teasing my skin, whispering sweet everythings. Together we inflate and ricochet. I am too quick to deflate. I nearly disappear. Not his fault, but mine. He steps to the plate, I am grateful. He refuses his helmet and bat. But oh, how I love him so, my heart sings, a bushel and a peck.
The cycle takes its toll, like a waxing and waning flood. I fight against it, resilient. I rebuild. It is taken. The flood comes too soon. I am adrift. This is life, or so they say. Within and without, as Mr. Caraway. If I am to sink, would they weep for me? Yes. The cost is freedom.
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