I’ve never before wanted to screech into the wind. Or yank the curtains off the wall.
I’ve never wished to hurl a feather into silence or squash the sky beneath my toe.
There is a presence within me that I cannot understand. A change I cannot erase and a rage I cannot quell.
I wish to shed my skin and coat my wounds in ice, reveling in the sting of a new way to be.
The ground crackles as I tumble through the house, banging up against the emptiness. The smooth layer of nothing.
I grasp at a raggedy old jumper, pressing my face to the window of what was. Desperate for my old
reality to seep back into me and undo what I have become.
I am broken. Shattered like glass and melted down to become something new. I cannot hold the same
space that I did with him. It is too big. A drawer overflowing with excess fabric, a dress falling open at the seams.
I wrench myself from the cookie cutter that was my life with him and I’m left raw. Covered in
scratches, bones at odd angles and guts spilling out.
A crack in the door sends me tumbling back down, splayed on the carpet, salt water streaming.
Clawing at the air, I drag myself back up and gulp down the sunlight crashing through a window.
That’s all I need right now. Reality with several degrees of separation.
But eventually I’ll find a way to bandage myself up and creep outside, one toe at a time.