There Will Be No One

I've been trying for weeks, but all I've got are a few pages of nonsense about what it feels like to breathe again. It left me wondering if AngryRevengeSex is still justified. The weight is gone and everything is lighter. Not happier, per se, but lighter. That's all.

Without the pit of anger pulling me Down and In and Inside Out, the air breezes against my skin in a thousand new places. Every inch of me is alive and healing. It makes me itch. Scabby itches. Bits of me are flaking off, but the new stuff is still raw. This tingly, itchy, living feeling that I'm not used to anymore makes me nervous. Scratching makes it worse, so I try to sit very still.

That's when I hear my breath. My lungs suck in huge gulps of oxygen. Like those great sheet-clutching gasps after a 2 A.M. coughing fit (or an equally mind-blowing 3 A.M. orgasm). Exhaling the terrible air left inside hurts, so it goes quickly. IN... out IN... out IN

All the weight that's gone has left me feeling hungry, raw, itchy-scratchy and anxious. That's why there will be no one touching me for a while. There is no room on my body for a hand to lay. But if I sit very still, and listen to my breathing return to an even In, Out. In, Out, the raw bits will return to normal, too. It was never about the breathing.