I’m trying to prove to myself I’m still a human. Not the put-together type, but the feeling-deeply-kind. The heart dropping to the floor in the meaning of the moment.
In all the noise, in the rush, in the feeling like a stack of plates full of filet mignon, baked red potatoes, and sautéed green beans- plates I’d waitered to a white-clothed table, had slipped from my balancing grasp, I didn’t know if I’d lost me in it, too.
Am I still me?
The motions I can do. The sitting and nodding, too. But inside, the tightness, the twisting of a guitar’s tuning keys until the chord’s nerve breaks.
I’d broken. Or so I’d thought.
Out spilled my contents. A mess. And no matter how much I tried to scrape and soak and slosh it back in, I couldn’t.
What matters is I can feel. There’s a place below, deep within, that is not gone.
I touched her. She was touched.
And there she was. Still.
Love, Jaclynn
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