“Something that you care about is being taken away from you by something that is bigger than you, something that you can’t control.”
Fiction. Based on a True Conversation.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Are you okay? Are we okay? Is everything in place? Pat your shoulders, your arms, your thighs: everything in order? Are we ready to begin?
What’s there, dear child? I can feel you, in my chest. You’re bigger than you were before. Bigger than I ever remember you being. Large and undefined and white-gold; luminous and blinding and eye-catching, all at once. Tendrils searching and waving: are you limned in silver? I am you, and you are me. I feel you engorged, loose, unraveled, but strong: undefined by the limits of our ribcage. I feel you and I see you, and you give me hope.
Because as I was sitting I felt this sadness. It rose up, from my belly; it pricked at the corners of my eyes; it twisted my mouth and hardened my brows and made my chest rise faster. It reached up from my gullet as if to choke me, and self: there was pain. There was physical pain. It grasped my jaw and it tightened its grip. It was merciless, and I was its victim.
And then I looked to you, and you were there. Bigger than I had ever felt you before. And you gave me hope.