It sits heavy on my chest. I can feel my thoughts burning holes into my closed eye lids. What is this melancholy feeling? My late night visitor of so many scattered years. As my chest tightens and I feel the sharp piercing pain begin to build just below my breast, I embrace this night time traveler. It has come again to draw warmth from my sun exposed skin and sap me of my daytime carefree light. It feeds, always hungry, leaving me a dry, rotting husk aching for happier memories.
I am scared, quivering and shaking standing on the verge of what I have desired for so many years. I run freely into the open arms of love, of promise, but here I stand quaking, hiding my face, paralyzed by fear but wanting, wanting to the point of needing. What is stopping my reaching hands from grasping this desire and birthing it into reality? Why do I find fear in place of my usual determination? When did I become so weak?
Tomorrow I wake, with dry and cracking lips, my heart racing, my throat a gathering dust storm to finally take that first step toward my future. Rejection weighs heavy and seeps into my limbs like rancid poison but I must gather my will. With the simple act of send I place my fate into another's hands and wait with short, hysterical breath to know what is already known.
I burn for the rising sun and quell my desire to run and never look back.
The time has come to face my fears, so hear I am, grasping my sword with sweating palms and quaking knees to face my dragon of tomorrow.
Nena
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