I don’t know how to do this. This weakness. I don’t know how not to struggle. Flail. When even giving up is within my control, when even the choice to submit is an act of my own will. My fingers tap out the familiar rhythms. Each beat a reminder of security. Nails on fingerprints. Constantly touching base. Rooted in my own muscular memory, I play out the dissonant melody of my fears on a palm-sized piano with 4 keys and a thumb.
I just don’t know how to finish the song.
4321123443211234 why doesn’t this code mean anything? There are times when it feels like the subatomic meaning of life. Everything hinges on this pattern continuing and I have to be the one to keep it going foreverandever amen.
I can’t let go of the rope. We’ve reached the end of the beginning and I am still holding on for dear (life? Is this really living?!) Callused hands feet dangling arms stretched ground looking soft and all the leaves in the fall reaching out to catch my iniquities.
What will happen when my muscles betray me? When these tendons refuse to cooperate with the will of my nervous determination? When my fingers stop drumming will I be able to feel my heart beat again?
And just like that, the fall began. It is very, very far.
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