The midday sun is blinding as I step outside. I feel my eyes
dilate while shielding them with my hand. I survey the backyard while
approaching the edge of the porch. Like a diver preparing for launch, my toes
curl over the edge. They seem to be the only thing holding me in place. I grab
the rail as my body sways. I try to ignore myself.
The familiar feeling makes its way through my body as I try to shake loose. It seeps through my body like a sponge soaking up a spill. It slowly takes hold - the mind is the last to fall in the onslaught. My toes slacken as I lean over the edge. The trajectory and result is quickly calculated and I steady my body. After all, a few cuts and scrapes fall well short of the goal. I relax and take a seat with legs dangling over the edge.
My eyes close as the energy to confront the sinking feeling is summoned. Unfortunately, the tank is empty. My hands support my head while searching for answers, but the battle is quick and decisive. The smashing of glass arrests the daze as I realize my drink is gone. The moisture on my hands is the only trace of its existence.
I lean forward while examining the carnage. It is hard to distinguish ice from glass as the various shards of glass glisten in the sunlight. The dark liquid flows away from the wreckage at a snail’s pace. Emotions erupt inside me like fireworks on a summer evening. I’m thirsty and miss my drink, but the energy to fix another is non-existent.
It is a thirst that is not easily quenched – a thirst for better days that are hard to grasp. The tears well up as I steal another peek at the glass heap. A lone tear begins the trek down my face. It disappears in week old stubble. It is quickly joined by siblings as a downpour begins.
My head move slowly from side to side as I bury my face in my hands. I wonder how long the pain will last.
The familiar feeling makes its way through my body as I try to shake loose. It seeps through my body like a sponge soaking up a spill. It slowly takes hold - the mind is the last to fall in the onslaught. My toes slacken as I lean over the edge. The trajectory and result is quickly calculated and I steady my body. After all, a few cuts and scrapes fall well short of the goal. I relax and take a seat with legs dangling over the edge.
My eyes close as the energy to confront the sinking feeling is summoned. Unfortunately, the tank is empty. My hands support my head while searching for answers, but the battle is quick and decisive. The smashing of glass arrests the daze as I realize my drink is gone. The moisture on my hands is the only trace of its existence.
I lean forward while examining the carnage. It is hard to distinguish ice from glass as the various shards of glass glisten in the sunlight. The dark liquid flows away from the wreckage at a snail’s pace. Emotions erupt inside me like fireworks on a summer evening. I’m thirsty and miss my drink, but the energy to fix another is non-existent.
It is a thirst that is not easily quenched – a thirst for better days that are hard to grasp. The tears well up as I steal another peek at the glass heap. A lone tear begins the trek down my face. It disappears in week old stubble. It is quickly joined by siblings as a downpour begins.
My head move slowly from side to side as I bury my face in my hands. I wonder how long the pain will last.
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