Still,

My heart fell deep into my chest, pushing on the light of my soul. I stayed still from discontent, uncomprehending the deepness that I sowed. If I freeze here long enough, will the pressure fall right off me?

Is it possible to decay from a distant memory? Every now and then, I find myself reminiscing on the missing. When I stay still long enough, the memories flood right back to help me cope without them.

Each time I sink into my bed, they drift a little further. Each time I revisit the past, I know my return will be harder.

Yet I think I’m addicted to the dream, high off impossible possibilities. Nothing cures a soul's delusions like true, harsh reality.