A soft, gentle fan-breeze whirring across the peach-fuzz on my face.
A cricket chirp just under the skin.
Both hemispheres of my brain pulling in their respective directions, leaving the middle a stretched drum.
A knowing denial, a willful ignorance.
It doesn’t hurt. It never has, not in the beginning. But the knowing stings. The possibility of not feeling is a unique pain. The knowing that I am not capable of stopping it. No amount of sleep, no relief. It’s a slow moving train, but it won’t stop. A gentle wave with a vicious undertow. How it’s all I can think about, like watching that train. There isn’t a sliver of my brain left for anything else, not even hope. There’s hope on the other side, but I have to wait for the train to pummel me, the wave to sweep over me.
What joy feels like.
A flitter under my sternum, jumping into my throat.
A big, cleansing, yoga breath.
My heart so full it must overflow or burst.
A knowing peace, a gentle reassurance.