Friday

I hold the slip in my hands...Where do I go after this? Everyone around me is in their own silent moment. Fists punch the air. I don't know what that means. My heart cringes in fear and tugs at my nerves. My mind starts registering images that are too familiar. Disappointing numbers, hopeful words. Lucky times...no scratch that - I never believed in luck. Erratic hours of sleep, mindless staring at the pallor of my skin under the light while the moon watched me elusively. Instances where I would involuntarily raise my chin a fraction to inhale the air when I needed to be calm. Too many still mornings. I feel no connection between the mind and body. An inner voice urging my fingers to revive, my feet to stay on solid ground. I never gave up, but resilience pays off in different ways. I am holding a glass, that is quickly revealing the edginess in me, amplifying every shudder my heart makes. It sheds lights on past battle scars and increasingly blinds me to every ounce of strength that is slowly ebbing away. My clasp tightens and fingers turn blood red, as if the harmless edges of the paper cut right into my veins. I have to be brave. I need to remember this does not define me. There is no running away. In a minute I will be coming face-to-face with it, right there indelibly inked. Right there, real, in my hands.