Echoes.

You could trace the prints in the snow once.

And this time last year, I was laying in the snow, cold and alone with the darkness enveloping everything I could see and engulfing every last light. 

Nothing quite feels like the chilled veins, rushing the warm blood through your limbs. 

Nothing quite feels like the tension in your knuckles as the close to grasp your thin arms. 

Nothing quite feels like cold chewing on the small of your back, it was the most comfortable.

Warm breath eventually goes to ice. 

Canvas shoes can only retain so much heat as the fluid seeps through the seams. 

If I had a hood, I probably would have used it. 

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I like to think that the church bells would have wrung for me, the echo beckoning my frigid body back home. 

But in hindsight, I am fairly aware no one even knew I was gone. 

The red in my sweatshirt bled a bit into the snow, and the blue in my jeans seemed to stick to my skin. 

I stood up that night. 

But for at least a few hours, I thought that I was never going to move again. 

As the locked joints in my knees fixed themselves under the wait of my heavy heart, my feet connected with the cold pavement. 

And I ran. 

With each step, I could hear the symphonic orchestra scream out into the night, like an anthem that was written for that moment.

The strings played the chords I had longed to hear, and I for the first time in months, I felt alive. 

The snow claws at my ears now, and my eyes can't seem to forget the flakes that touched my clean shaven face. 

Please, don't let the fragile words cut your tongue.

Because for so long, they scraped their entire way down my throat. 

But baby, just let the shards of glass in the shape of 'why' slip through your teeth. 

Breathe easy knowing that the scars on your lips are just an emblem of your strength. 

Because sometimes, I wanna scream it out, and feel the inside of my cheek be struck with the words that didn't quite make it. 

Sometimes, I wanna go back to the snow, and maybe let it numb up my lips a bit. 

Let it numb up my tongue, and my enlarged tonsils. 

Because now, now I am ready to change. 

Nelson, just because we are sad doesn't mean we aren't strong. 

And Nelson, just because we talk about the dark things doesn't mean we can see the bright ones. 

But now, I think I can hear the church bells. 

Sundays don't seem the same anymore.
I'm to angry to internalize the lessons now.
My house is strikingly similar to  a war zone that claims my peace of mind as its greatest casualty.
Most of the time I'm just alone.

When I was little, playing yahtzee or watching the Jungle Book would pacify my emotions.
Frankly when I was little life wasn't quite real yet.
And back then I never felt so empty.

There is a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
Construction paper and tape don't quite do the job.
I haven't learned how to sew a heart out of the yarn yet.
Sometimes I think I feel it beat once or twice,
but I think it's really just the empty emotions dripping into the cavity.

what went wrong?

Did I use the wrong recipe?
Did I mix to much hate into an already worn heart?
Did I pour in to much love all at once?

Right now this life, this existence, it is so unbearably overwhelming.
The algorithms don't seem to find the solution either.
No one gave me the vocabulary list that explained how I feel.

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No one taught me what life is. 

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I feel like my dreams are just clawing away at the back of my ribs, occupying the place that my heart left. 

Inches away from seeing the beautiful hues of the sky, 

inches away from feeling the crisp winter air bite at their cheeks, 

inches away from exposing themselves to me. 

Is there a brain transplant surgery?

Too often have I felt that mine hasn't followed the correct direction. 

Is it possible to induce amnesia? 

There are to many things I wish I could forget.

Can I use the scars on my hands to draw the line?

Because too many of you have crossed it. 

Where is the place that me and her can just breathe the same clear oxygen and not feel so shackled?

I would definitely love to go there. 

One day, Sundays aren't going to hurt so bad.