You’re running out of fuel. You crossed the path that leads back from the highway. You smoked your last cigarette. It’s snowing in April and you’re wearing shorts. You pass the house you grew up in and wonder if the new owners treat it like something holy. Your hands shake and that feeling starts in your chest. A slow burn flows to your fingertips and now you’re sweating in the middle of a second wave a winter. Adrenaline can’t always save you. Memories flood through the crack in your window. Pouring through the vents. You’re up to your neck in grief. You can’t even identify the sadness- unable to pinpoint the exact part of the plot that’s causing this reaction. Dreading sunlight even though everyone calls you sunshine. You only find solace in the moonlight, but right now you’re drowning down West 130th street. You can’t tell if the saltwater in your tears is real so you hold back every urge to explode. Unleash it in a journal that feels safe- feels something like your childhood home. Record every thought and let it live there forever. You think about tomorrow and how you’re going to try. How you’ll fight the nausea and the sunlight and swim through the memories that waterboarded you moments ago. You’ll wake up and try again. -AMT ©️