I want to talk about what happened
but I fear it will hurt too much
to re-enter that space now,
days later,
like traveling back in time
to feel those thoughts and feelings again
so I can write about them.

I don’t know how
to assign words, to gift cadence,
to those moments of emotional overwhelm.
But I will try.

My lungs shriveled up like raisins
in a rubble-piled chest
unable to take a full, deep, expansive breath
for three days.

My heartbeat slowed as my nerves turned numb
retreating from sensation
towards any stimulation.

The panic, the pain,
the fear rose above me like a tidal wave
and crashed,
holding me down, in the water
and thrashing currents,
tossing my body as though it were
nothing more than a thin branch
broken off from a shoreline tree
in the wind.

I felt it all
in real time
for days.

The fear, pure and raw,
scared me the most
ironically.

Now, these days later,
my lungs are plump grapes
eager and able to take deeper breaths.
The panic, pain and fear
have settled like sand at the bottom of the ocean,
but the numbness remains,
uncertain if it’s supposed to dissipate naturally with time
or if its lingering presence signifies
issues remaining unresolved.

The more I talk about it,
the more I write about it,
the harder it becomes to dismiss
the truth pulsing through my blood.
The truth cannot be avoided forever;
it will not dissipate with time.

I must continue talking about it
I must continue writing about it
I must continue revisiting the vulnerability
of sitting in the spaces of purity
to understand,
and to move forward.