I remember the water. The freezing, bubbling, writhing water. It circled and thrashed. It wanted to envelop me and hold me down until I drowned and breathed only its death into my lungs. I remember the end. The end of my life. I remember the end of my life as I knew it. I remember that neither the burning intensity of the inferno nor the comforting warmth of chaosâ€™s end could satisfy. I got up and reached for something, anything, to fill the aching emptiness contained in the beating heart in my hand. It still did not warm my fingers. I remember putting my hands toward the clouds to see if I could still feel the sky and hold it in my grasp. I remember I could. I remember crying. The tears went unnoticed on my soaked body and clothes, but etched deep scars as they slowly dripped down my hand. Both of my hearts were crying. I remember my fingers. I remember it still did not warm my fingers. I remember that even though one of my hands did remain cold, the other still held the sky. I remember I was okay.
Published on May 9, 2013