Waking Up
"hurt" I knew that word meant something, but I could only stare, bewildered. "How could the meaning matter at this points?"
But time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but past it does. Even for me.
The sky was no longer black. Somewhere behind the rain, the sun was beginning to rise.
I know some part of me knew this should upset me, being carried away but there was nothing left in me to upset.
So let me. Wake up
But time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but past it does. Even for me.
The sky was no longer black. Somewhere behind the rain, the sun was beginning to rise.
I know some part of me knew this should upset me, being carried away but there was nothing left in me to upset.
So let me. Wake up
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