Sticks and Stones

My head hurt. There was this little stone poking the very center of my skull, but wouldn’t dare move. I was afraid. Afraid that I would lose that perfect spot I had in that very position. Afraid that if I moved, if I blinked, the world would disappear in one simple magic trick. I was afraid of a lot of things at that moment, but most of all I was afraid that if I moved I would start to feel the cuts on my leg again. I had managed to ignore them, to erase them from my mind for those few moments while staring up at the sky, not a cloud in sight, the moon still sleeping, having an affair with the sun, and the stars had the rule of the sky. At that moment I didn’t feel anything. Not anger. Not happiness. Not the dreadful numbness that I fear above all. Nothing. My mind was empty and my heart sighed at the lifted weight, the removal of that constant pressure that I put on it. At that moment I was free. And no stone poking my head was going to make me give that up.