to watch a thunderstorm, in all of its suddenness, roll into a valley. to question the validity of what the body feels. to pull dead leaves off of a plant I tried to keep alive for so long, a plant that was a gift. to open my eyes in meditation to watch my dog run in her sleep. to run my fingers through hair so fine it feels like silk. to step on the sidewalk crack and not break my back. to actually break my back, or break my foot, or my hope. to let go of a parent who is still alive. to realize, with the same suddenness of the thunderstorm, that my neighbor has painted their front door blue. to feel carried on a long train ride on a Wednesday morning. to visit a place for the second or third time, when it's no longer new. to smell lavender and rot at the same time. to want attention so badly I'm willing to do anything like drop all of my groceries on the floor and watch the apples roll all the way to the line at the cash register. to wonder what that lump is, to hear the doctor say "hmm," to get it biopsied and wait for a call for one whole week which is seven whole days or 168 hours or 10,080 minutes. to have to call back because the doctor forgot about me. to be forgotten. to have someone touch me when I don't want to be touched. to have someone touch me when that feels like the only thing I could ever really want. to walk for longer than I intended. to sleep for far less than I need. to take a deep breath. then another. then another.
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