The mayday of an atrophied heart

The rain falls almost weightlessly outside, making no noise as it collides with the pavement, seeming to hover in the air as it descends. The night is quiet, my body weighted with exhaustion. The champagne has since gone flat in the open September air. The cacophonous sounds of celebration and life still ringing in my ears. 

This day I’d imagined, born into the world with great gusto, and now the world different. Heart pounding, tears in the corner of my eyes, so much motion I’m dizzy. It’s arrived. It took no time at all for me to become the person I had hoped for. In somber hours of lonely weekends, willing adventure and risk into my life. It took only 20 days to champion what I’d pined for with apathy. 

What great lengths will these beginnings see me off on? How can I capitalize on this momentum before new boundaries are set and the inertia begins to wage against me again? I’ve proven once more that I’m capable of these things my heart cautions against. Shielding itself from all that feels too bright, too abrupt. I know now that angels walk with me, escorting me in undetected ranks towards my destiny. I know now that the mayday of my heart is often the fallacy of an organ that yearns for a good stretch but no longer knows anything but the comfort of its bounds.

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