There are many days where I stare into the future, with a clenched fist.
I make silent promises to myself:
This will get better.
You will get better.
You can live through this.
I hold these whispers in my palms, and let them slip through my tiny fingers, like ashes released into the wind.
I try to release myself to the unknown, let it consume me.
But it’s difficult to have a heart filled with so much love,
That it drowns out the sound of your own breathing.
To feel everything, until the point of exhaustion,
when all you prayed for was indifference.