Some Mornings

megan_fiction-1

Illustration by Cleopatria Peterson, Fashion Communication ’14.

[S]ome mornings, heartbreak is in your bones, settled deep inside though you can’t seem to recall sending the invitation.

Your rib cage stands like the bare tree of fall, the wind whistling through its frail branches, tapping on your window as if to remind you, you are alone.

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your skull, in the crevices of the pale blue casing that surrounds your every thought, the broken dream catcher trying to keep the evil away.

But ghosts can float between the bars, slip inside your deepest secrets, with no regret or remorse for making you cry out in the night.

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your spine, intertwining like ivy on a lamp post, leaving you begging for someone else to hold your own head up for you.

Comfort resides in the hours spent cut off from reality, for at least you have control of that, though the dreams leave you frantically reaching in the night for something unknown to even you.

Some mornings, heartbreak finds its way back to your heart, slides through the valves, into the ventricles, mixing with the blood that gives you life. Heartbreak gives you life. Heartbreak reaches every last corner of your body, crippling you and taunting you, but you are still capable of breathing on your own. Heartbreak may be a thief, but you are a statue, broken and crumbling around the edges but still standing after all these years.

Some mornings, heart break is in your body. It seems to make up the essence of you, but it is not your being. You are your being.