I could hear my heart beating.
I’ll remember many things, but what I’ll remember most about that day is my heart. The way it beat frantic, desperate. The way I could hear the rushing of blood. The onslaught of fear and adrenaline as it thrummed through my veins. The way my whole body shook from it.
How I became tragedy incarnate.
I spoke the words and held the ones who needed it. The ones who felt it in their lungs. In the air they breathed. Who woke up with it and went to bed with it and couldn’t seem to escape it. They felt like me, but I couldn’t feel like them. For I only knew him in one light. I was touched briefly by a magnificent soul. And they knew him. He filled their days. Their lives. Their everything.
My eyes blurred. I couldn’t see where I was going, but my feet took me there instead. To my car. To the place that was mine. Where tears didn’t trickle, but poured.
The sky ripped apart and wept, and I dried my own tears on my sleeves. The black buttoned sleeves of my dress coat reserved for special occasions. But nothing felt special about this.
Every single part of this felt wrong.
All of it was wrong.
There are no more words. There are only thoughts. There are only feelings.
And I fear I feel them all.