Between one Heartbeat and the Next
The sky is wearing shades of grey this morning, blending from battleship to dove to white all rimmed with fire where the sun still dares to stick a finger in the business of the day.And deep behind the grey is blue, and deeper yet the teeming tracts of emptiness between the stars hang icy black, dark velvet textured with the dust of worlds gone by and yet to come.
March has been a month of being clogged and clumped like whipping cream gone wrong. Pretzel twists have curved the days back on themselves and I have marched in place, not moving yet spilling forth into futures dreamed, imagined, feared and hated. Fantastic images that do not exist outside my mind.
I think perhaps, this is survival. This shrinking down that folds the soul into a seething mass of temper, sulks and rude words coiling on the tongue just waiting for the slightest invitation to spring forth. Fresh water tears at every touch, each word that hinted someone noticed, someone cared, and bitter salt that wracked the body, soaked the pillow when no one offered help I did not ask for or even worse, demanded help from me.
Nothing much has changed from yesterday except tomorrow has become today , yet I have crossed a threshold where I can feel the life beyond the margins of my flesh and wait for it to come to me instead of falling in a headlong rush on nerveless feet to grab at it, clinging to the non existent time that has not happened yet. The time between one heartbeat and the next.
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