No body and no art

I stepped out of the windowsill last night, around 3;45. There weren't any noises there, no cars, no sleeping people, and not even really dark. I felt the way the planks had turned; from light brown on to white, from warm to freezing cold. I felt the swaying underneath my feet. Here was my place, no need to duck, the outside world had told me I'm enough. I wasn't with you anymore.
The air caught softly all around my face. A step stool into water, into pillows, an embrace. I was held that night, the way I've never been. And when the fallout cut my lungs, I knew I'd be okay.
Three doors down the hallway, inside the house where I am not. But out here I am not alone. I wasn't there, I felt it in the touch. Before my nose and teeth could hit the pavement, someones silent hand had reached out and already saved me. A heavy weight, a warmth, the itching in my legs. No blood, no tears, no hospital or bed.
Of course it took a while to figure out. I remember flailing my arms around, eyes unfocusedly fixed to the ground. I hovered over it, I was supported, warm. I could rise above or threaten myself fall. I was alone, but it was there. A million brimming pieces, a hundred singing stars. Freedom I had never felt. No body, and no art.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

A hundred singing stars. Freedom I had never felt. That is quite a journey you have taken this reader on ivy. I enjoyed my visit. Thank you.

Chris