Warmth Of Living

I turn in the most ungracious way and see her standing there in the hallway, looking at me. Staring straight through what's left of my cold, petty soul. It burns, the way hot sand burns your feet.

I can't stand still anymore. That pounding thing in my chest they refer to as a heart seems like it's trying to break free from the prison that is my ribs. It's tearing me to pieces inside. It feels good.

The two legs that carry the weight of my body are giving in. As if they suddenly were to carry the flesh and bone of another human being. And for some reason, I'd rather be twice as heavy in her presence than weight almost nothing alone.

She starts walking graciously towards the wrecks of me, every step matching the beat in my head.
Our bodies are drawn together by some unexplainable force and I feel. I feel the warmth of her body against mine and for the first time I'm not cold anymore. I feel her golden hair brushing against my pale cheeks as I walk my fingers down along her spine.

There is something inside of me. It almost feels like it's alive. It moves around in the centre of my body, cutting me internally. My muscles want to take me out of here. They want to run to the end of the world. Escape this feeling of attachment. But the pounding thing that keeps aching inside of me wants to be found.
It wants to live.