My anxiety is a stranger intruding our house. He smashes family photos by accident, loots all jewelries with intent.
There is a sort-of thrill from the warmth of your pulse traveling down my shoulders, my back, the bridge of your nose resting at the crook of my neck.
You pretend that what you feel is love for so long that you trick your mind into thinking it is.
How long do we have to wait before we can search for a strategy that might help us prevent slaughter like this from happening in the future?
You’ll feel your heart racing. Your pulse so high. You’re convinced you might be dying from a heart attack.
Anxiety makes me fragile and it makes me tough. Anxiety breaks me down and tears me apart.
I lurch and halt in the pulses of your flares. I want to leap out, climb through the ceilings, press the sun between my teeth but you pull me back, you always pull me back.
I witnessed the people of my city transform into heroes before the eyes of the entire nation. When everyone else was bickering and fighting between themselves, Houston saw through beliefs and culture and focused on saving lives simply because that’s what true humanity is.
Finding someone to fall asleep beside, someone to grab dinner with, someone to text whenever you’re feeling sad, is always nice — but it isn’t going to magically make your life complete. It isn’t going to fill that empty void that’s been drilled into your soul.
I think I’d much prefer it this way until I hold hands with someone who makes me feel like the stars tangled themselves between our fingers.