Eyes closed, body stiff, mouth dry, muscles weak and frail. You lie there, confused yet undisturbed and peaceful, away from demons that caress your soul as if it was their own. Your mind is awake and functioning, almost as if it is a dream that clouded reality. Whispers that surround you are easily heard but impossible to make out, or respond to. The hand that lies upon yours is numb, as well as the fiery tears that drown it. Air that surges around, and stale thoughts that cling to the walls, trap you in darkness. Outside, the blossoms dance a pure waltz in the quiet embrace of the wind and you remember when you were part of what they share. The lullaby that it sang when you fell asleep carelessly under the stars was clear and calming. Days of weakness drift by painfully and tirelessly, playing with each thought you somehow cradle in feeble arms. Feelings of uneasiness are haunting, and force the shadow of the past to tease you.
This has not always been your life though, please tell me you remember. The euphoric sound of laughter, the taste of sweet air, the feeling of love and being loved, before everything turned sour? Do you remember when you could swallow saliva without fear or doubt? or the smile that appeared without reason, in synchronisation with them or when you could smile at all? When he took your hand, feeling his fingers intertwine within yours, feeling heartbeats match. Lips pressing against lips, forcing the blood to whisk to your head as he enveloped you? These days have faded, but you cling onto that ounce of humanity, hoping that it will make you whole once more. You wish you could wake up as a child, free of worry, free of regret; free of torment. That you could redo everything, and erase what now defined you. Wishing your heart had not been corrupted by the event that changed it all. That your mother would smile down at you, welcoming you back, seeing your father weep as his little girl returned to be back with him. All they could see was a fragile body lying still, not breathing, talking, laughing; living.
Your eyes are open, body still stiff, mouth retaining moisture, and muscles gaining back fragments of strength. The hand you didn’t use to be able to feel, remains there, still drowning yours in aged tears, yet new ones form which are tepid and show felicity for you have awakened. Movement is still foreign, but a smile is not, it feels good to be able to express emotion, even just one at a time. Dizziness has taken hold of your head but you don’t give it a second thought. Whispers have gone and so has your inability to make them out. You can hear the sounds that were muted, and respond without keeping it bottled inside your limp figure. The room smells new and strange, you can’t decipher it, it isn’t sweet nor salty. Hot sweat runs down carmine cheeks, searing the skin as you try to move but fail. You are only able to blink each second that passes by, and wriggle your legs under thin sheets that engulf your body. This does not beset you, the world lays at your wobbly feet once more. Oxford blue eyes belonging to you are no longer shielded by dry eyelids, you have returned and are ready; ready to try again.