Everyone keeps telling me this is all about time. But it feels more like space. And I think there is a subtle distance between the two. Time feels like an eternity and space more like air.
In the space I occupy, I am eternally present. This was always my goal of course. But remaining here is a constant struggle. My mind trips me with lies and tells me I am weak, I am used. Except I am neither.
My mind wants to punish my heart, for making stupid decisions, for trusting.
I said my brain would lead me through this and I promised to not listen to the longing in my chest, because my heart would always go back. I lived in reverse. Accepted the wrong apologies, denied the voices, believed the touch.
Now I think I had even this backwards, for it is my heart, shallowly beating that is leading me now. Wounded, but not broken, I can eradicate what is left and build a lifetime upon it.
Foundations made of sand, it turns out, are not always washed away–but float separately in a sea of memory.
What might have been becomes an abstraction, a piece of me yes, all of me no. I ignore the whispers because even cast aside, I lie here alive. I feel the weight, but still breathe.
This is not my story yet.