muggy

I walked outside into a web of cotton candy humidity. The air was fibrous. My lungs strained to pull the thickness in. Sometimes breathing is an arduous task. Sometimes you have to labor to rest. Oftentimes, choosing to live is the most grueling exercise you’ll do in a day. But choose, you must…

Choose, I must.

Every step is slow motion. I feel the lag in time and movement and it sets me back a half count straight away. I’m off. Not in step or tune. Arrhythmia. 

The morning is dragging me like dead weight and I am just fine to be cut loose. I wave it ahead.

“Leave me; I’ll catch up later.”

Now I’m performing in deficit red, and how ironic as it’s all I see. 

Behind. 

Below.

Insufficient. 

Impossible.

I’m flush with anger. If these gallows clouds don’t wring with rain soon, I’m going to…

It’s all there, in my jaw. Burning and bulging. Stuck, like everything else in this swelter. I swallow it back; it’s like gravel and barely moves.

My God, I need water, inside and out. 

I’m sorry.

Can we start over?

I blew it in the first measure. Maybe something a bit slower?

How can anyone allegro through this swampy static? I have to begin again. And maybe again after that. Maybe as many times as needed in order to get it right. 

I swear I’m not moving. But I am. Just too minutely a motion to measure, I suppose. Too short a distance between suffocating and inhaling; pressure and precipitation; anger and honest emotion. It’s miles of highway, knotted up in intersections. Such a long journey for such a short distance. Such congestion for only one heart’s traffic.

Please…

Break wide open, heaven.

Spill right over, tears.

Hurry up and get there, heart.