it’s beautiful outside

my knees feel week as i sit in this chair,

i feel the knots being tied in my stomach, the disquiet thoughts crowding in my mind.

i see the world as a photograph, the view before me as a crisp image, blurry where my hands meet the keyboard and where the letters begin to appear upon the page.

it’s beautiful outside, and i can feel the sun’s presence even though it is not on me now.

i can feel the memory of the spirits i once had. i sat restlessly in my bed at all hours of this morning. i laid anxiously going over and over the scenes of the night, but as each film rolled in my mind, i would fall into a subtle sleep and at the moment i began to create myself into a new character, someone besides me. nightmares and daydreaming have broken the rules of gravity, the sense of my reality.

it’s beautiful outside, and i can notice the breeze glide beneath my hands,

but my deep inhales feel like the color of charcoal, and the punishing texture of the coarse material.

it’s beautiful outside, and i can hear the leaves rustle even thought i am far from the trees,

but my anticipation has turned into anxiety once more, and there’s no one beside me once again.

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