| highest rank: #214 in short story |
piece by piece, leaf by leaf, and as each season passes me by, I will follow her into tomorrow
cover by the wonderful @eunxia-
Oxygen is what we humans live on. But being alive can have so many different meanings but death isn't like that; death is final.
You can fake it, and it can be honest. I don't think I really known which I am. Am I a faker? Am I honest? I believe that it depends on where I am, who I'm with; it depends on the very second my emotions bounce back at me. What about her?
Is she alive when she's numb from the alcohol that nips at her throat?
Is she alive when his voice is raw from the sobs that caress his throat in a vice-like grip?
Is she alive when she's standing at the edge of the cliff, daring me to take another step forward, pushing her one more step back?
I think we are all a little bit broken; some of us are just better at hiding it. Maybe when we hide it far enough in the back of our minds, we can finally breathe. We can, at last, be true, wholly alive.
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