On Nights Like Tonight
On nights like tonight I lay awake with ridiculous tears streaming down my face over things long past and yet still entirely, miraculously current. The things I have to achieve the next day mean nothing because I know that I will feel nothing, or at least very little, as I do them, no matter their design. Going through the motions to get things that need doing done, not feeling the pounding of my feet on a treadmill or the stretch of my muscles as they pull my body into the beautiful yoga poses my newest enjoyment asks of me, not hearing the words I say in love to others come back and echo in my insides with that particular warmth they should undoubtedly inspire: all of my most natural ties to the moment are clipped. I am separated from both my body and the world by a cloud that will not disperse with the cold winds outdoors; on nights like tonight, it is far colder inside.
On nights like tonight I feel the rawness in my throat and the salty trails on my cheeks and think to myself that this will never go away: will never leave me. When I reach for those who can’t and won’t help, I’m told that the scars will stay, but that I will still find a way out, somehow. Although I try to take comfort from words like those, as I see it, scars can be reopened… and each time it happens they thicken and grow deeper, like the roots of noxious weeds that tear up surrounding flowers when pulled. If I didn’t feel emptiness at such a depth on a night like tonight, I’m sure that I would be afraid; I’m also sure that I should be, for whatever that’s worth.
So with tongue in cheek, I say that, thankfully, for now I can only feel a void all lined with grief worn smooth. Nights like tonight may be long and tortured, but so long as I fight for the thought of a day like tomorrow, hope might not be too far off.
