My hands feel heavy, as if gravity has gained weight and decided to sit atop my arms.
My heart is heavy, too, concaving my chest so that nothing is left in it anymore…not feeling, not love, not sadness…nothing.
My eyelids refuse to cooperate with me, slowly and sneakily closing more often and covering more of my eyes’ real estate so that by the time I finish this brief blog post, I will be writing it blindly.
My body feels bound to the earth somehow, not that I can’t fly, but that I can’t even crawl.
I want to lay down until all thoughts make a final pass through my frenzied brain, until my brain is clear and clean and ready to start fresh, with no trace of data from before.
And the frenzy within my brain is whirring, buzzing, furiously leaping from thought to thought, it as if I’m trying to catch air.
On the outside, heavy is what I feel. My body is heavy. My mind is heavy. My spirit is heavy.
Heavy with weight, with grief, with burdens that aren’t mine.
Ah, but sleep…sleep heals, and so I must heal thyself.