~a fever dream, dreamt in the cold~
It all went dark at first. Mind void, distant.
But at the same time, she was overwhelmed by everything.
The past. The possible future. Everything she had known, everything she had not known.
Her chest heavy, her eyelid more so. She could not feel, her fingertips sensed nothing. She only felt cold. Cold on her skin, cold inside her chest.
She felt like she was floating, or drowning, she did not know for sure. The surge to let go, surrender to this much greater force. Beckoning.
When she yielded, just a little, to the power beckoning her, she felt warmth. An embrace, like coming home. She loosened up a little, "Yes," the word came to her mind, but never made it to her mouth. “I give up, it is too hard. It is too powerful.”
And, oh, the sweetness of it. Of giving up.
Like sipping on the warm chocolate she loved so when she was a child. The storm was outside, unlike now.
But then, a sound. Far, far away. A voice.
A voice she held dear in her heart, calling out her name. A voice she held close to her dear heart.
A voice far, far away. But it pulled at her heart, tugged at her strings.
For a moment, she felt the faint beat of her heart. Then she felt cold again. Cold on her fingertips, touching something.
And then the same voice came to her mind once again. This time more demanding, calling out her name. “Why are you calling,” she thought, “Don’t you understand?”
Silly. Of course they don’t. No one did.
But the voice kept coming.
And so she felt the urge to fight, again. She remembered now, as another voice came to her mind. Isn't it her closest friend? Yes.
Oh, she could barely handle the heaviness. The weight of living. The weight of breathing.
She felt the cold again, this time more tangible. She felt cold on her fingertips, of something she held. In her hands, cold and unrelenting.
Now, there's no turning back. She would not want to disappoint the voices inside her head, right? The voices that now not only felt in her mind, but getting clearer through her ears.
Oh, she thought. That's where the voices came from. Her ears. Now, more demanding were the voices. A contrast to the alluring pull of giving up and to let go.
She felt really cold. Now, on the tips of her toes. Cold on her skin. Skin, yes, now she remembered she could sense with her skin. The skin of her face.
What did she sense? Oh, yes, wind.
When she focused on it more, she realized it was not wind. It was breathing. Someone was breathing so close to her face, the blow of the air so tangible.
And, oh, she could feel someone else's skin or her face.
And on her body, engulfing, embracing.
She still felt cold, but now she remembered she has eyelids. She was supposed to be able to see. So she tried.
Oh, who thought that opening one's eyes would be so excruciating? She only wanted to see the world.
“I only wanted to see the world,” she admitted painfully, “In a gentler light,” this time truthfully.
Oh, how she wanted to see. To see the person holding her, to see the face of the voices she heard. To see whose breath was fanning on her cheeks, grounding her. To see whose hands were cupping her face so tenderly.
What a long time since the last time she felt it. To want, to wish for, without the bitter taste of the word but.
And then she inhaled sharply, eyes open finally, breaths ragged, body felt cold.
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
