Ode to Life

Surmountable

There's something that pushes its way up my throat. I swallow it, over and over again, but it returns every time; It's in my lungs, in my head, energy lighting up my hands.

I can't seem to stop the way it curls in my chest, wishing to escape.

It can't. You're away from me. So far. So far, so far, so far. Seven. Seven. Seven. And then 1,875. It feels insurmountable.

I'm so eager for time to pass. The guilt I feel is almost tangible, I know I'd be there faster if I got out of my head.

My head. My cage. My prison. My playground. It holds me down with invisible chains that not even I can see. Makes it hard to believe there's a reason for my hesitation. Hard to believe they're still there.

I want to retaliate somehow. Tear things. Break things. But that wouldn't work. What I'm reaching for is gentle and strong and exciting and paralyzing. Never destructive.

So I'll wait here. Until my limbs let me move again, until I can stand up and pass through 1,875 miles of insurmountable space, and then I will somehow overcome it.

I'll overcome it,

I'll overcome it,

I'll overcome it.

My hands will still, while energy beats through the rest of me, and I'll hold you, and I'll have you.

I'll have you,

I'll have you,

I'll have you.

And then you'll have you forever.

And then she never will again.