The sun hits your shoulders, and there’s confetti in the air. Or maybe it’s flowers. Or maybe it’s leaves and too much imagination, but there’s the sun and oh, isn’t it beautiful.
Five years ago, you’re laying on your bed with your legs up on the wall. Your sister texted you an hour ago, maybe 12 hours ago, but who cares when you can just lie here. In the dark. This is what it feels like to almost die. And you take a deep breath, because there’s still air. So breath it. And wait for it to fade. Wait for everything to fade so you can be gone.
You always wondered what it would be like to be a picture on the wall. Isn’t that romantic; to succeed, stand in the sunshine, and wait for the camera to click? I mean, it won’t be you. But it sure would be nice. Instead, you’ll let the hours go by and maybe make up a self-righteous story of what you don’t deserve. This is what it feels like to be sick.
Five years ago, you asked them to give you a reason to stay. They gave you one hundred, and you hated every one. Why couldn’t they tell you what you wanted to hear? Why couldn’t they ever pretend you were right. But they didn’t. And you laid on your bed with your legs on the wall and cried until your cheeks hurt. Who were they to tell you what it was like to live.
But you made it. I guess. This is what it feels like to have your picture on the wall. Maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe the sun wasn’t that warm. And the flowers weren’t as nice. And you’re still crying. You’re crying so much and suddenly you feel everything. This isn’t what they said it would be, but it’s enough and somehow, it’s more.
This is what it feels like to almost die, and this is what it feels like to live. Down comes the confetti and down comes the flowers and all that’s left is you. And look at how far you’ve come. You made it.
- Miriam, and I wish you knew how proud I was
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