The beryl shades of loneliness are something to splash about in, to drink, to become addicted to. At this time last year I existed as nothing more than a shadow who’d bare and gnash teeth at the onset of nightfall. My broken body would lay alone for hours with limbs furled like that of a spider’s soulless skeleton. I was empty and unable see my heart spluttering and sighing through the skin pulled taught over my chest. I was alive without truly living, and it was paramount that I scrawled notes and vowed never to slip into this state of perpetual stagnancy.

Here I am. My blood and bones are fatigued, but I am trying to heal and occasionally I’ll taste a salty glint of my own light. This morning the sun is licking my legs with a honeyed tongue and I am sitting with curiosity clouding my eyes, gazing at the skin pulled taught over my heart as it opens, closes, opens, closes; beating like wings of a butterfly. I am breathing again.