Twenty-Seven

I can feel the weight dissipate. I’m not a birthday person but I feel this. The release. The letting go. The mourning.

I’ve felt it pool in my eyes and drip from my nose. I grew up. I threw it all away. I’m lighter, and it’s dizzying.  Pulled the ripcord. It’s nauseating.

And then it’s calm.

I’ve held on to so much these past few years. I’m so sorry to let you go, but my arms were shaking. I like to think you want it this way.

 

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