TWENTY FEVER

Last night I thought of you as I watched the gentle September rain from my bedroom window a little past midnight . It fell steadily, the most gentle pitter-patter as if it were afraid to wake the world as it slept, as if it only wanted to be a background act, a back up singer just loud enough not to divert any attention to itself, yet an essential accompaniment to buffer the silence of the night. I watched it fall for a blissful hour until it disappeared just as swiftly as it had come. The moist ground was the only sign of its secret visit. I stood, rooted to my spot by the window long after it left, mesmerized by the uncanny resemblance.
Love, I thought of you.
I thought of how you cry yourself to sleep each night, softly, in silent sobs buried in the feathers of your pillow as the world sleeps soundly. For an hour the world is yours to pour your heart into. For sixty minutes you could freefall into the pools of the numbness that is your pain. For a time given at a rate of three-sixty seconds per hour you could face your demons, you could FEEL .Yet you choose to break yourself down piece by piece, pour your heart out in careful, calculated, almost symmetrical portions. You fall, slowly and carefully as if you could control the speed of gravity, skimming through the emotions, scratching only their surface, terrified their depth might consume you whole. Finally when you’ve had your fix for the day, you swiftly weave the pieces back together into something acceptable.
Solid.
Only the moist, creased pillow remains evidence of your routine after-dark despair. It’s a little silent cry for help after a long day of saying the right things, walking the right way, conversing with the right people. A long tedious day of being ‘fine’.You spend each day word for word to the script, with the pieces you so hurriedly brought together on the verge of crumbling.
But I see you.
I see you jog around the block each morning. I see the path your tears traced in the night, down by your nose, branching into small tributaries around your cheeks as your sobs intensified.
You’re a ticking time bomb, a time capsule on its last minute, slowly emptying out its last bit of sand.
I wonder how long till you’ve nothing to lose. How long before you shout and scream, not sob and sniffle? I shudder as I wonder how long it will take before you give in to the temptation of ending your peril in a few milligrams of ecstasy.What happens when you can’t or rather, when you won’t keep it together?
HOW LONG?
But all I can do is pray.
Pray that perhaps this isn’t the only possible outcome.
That just like the soft September rain, may your tears evaporate as the sun rises. May they take some of your scars with them. May you never have to hide the ones that did stay. The ones that were left behind.
I pray you find a limitless outlet for your anxiety. I pray you get well soon, of what started as just,
A ‘twenties’ fever.