#writingsnet

if i could put a name to the feeling of breaking the surface after being underwater it would rival euphoria a phoenix reborn from the ashes of a past life taking a breath of cool winter air after a lifetime of drowning in the quiet moments where i no longer feel like i am gasping for every ragged shred of air in my lungs and for once feel whole and untainted by my own head i close my eyes and whisper my thanks into the frosted air telling the girl in the mirror that i am proud of her and she has done so well i spend my silent moments far away from home on winding mountain roads and with the wind whipping through the open car windows pulling my hair into wild disarray around my flushed face i tighten my hands on the wheel and as i break the crest of the mountain and watch as the setting sun rises in reverse against the falling horizon i feel like i am flying spreading wings to the western skies no longer weighed down by waves and sea spray and as i break the surface i fill my lungs and say on a steady exhale: i am alive

It doesn’t matter which body I am in, how many years come and go. I return to the same things, again and again. I obsess over the unfinished, these stars that spark embers in the wires of my attention. The shape or form doesn’t matter. I will recognize it. sunbeam, sparrow, or poet, my heart still stumbles to the same temples. It is the radiant, the curious and electric, that leash my fascination- give me a puzzle, give me the unpredictable. I am a satellite gravitating to the brightest flame in the constellation, my kryptonite and cynosure.

QUESTION

I. we sat in the library aisles, pulling books on the rise and fall of the roman empire from the shelves. they fell like gladiators in a fever dream. we pinned an atlas on the wall and mapped conspiracy theories. that summer, we spoke the secret language of birds. you tried to teach me arabic once and the words were saffron on your tongue.

I fall in love with people for the way they see the world. The glittering train wrecks, the sky-throated bravado. For holding eye contact and acknowledging my existence. But I’m still learning to run with the exit wounds and fault lines, the open chasms they tear into the star memories of my skin. Night skies bleeding into empty space.

all I know is that I want, and I want fiercely.