Be Still, My Beating Heart

I felt so alive once. When I try to picture the last moment that you pumped the spark of life through my veins, the only image I get is sitting on blacktop, looking at the stars. The same summer I started calling you Batman. What a pathetically long time ago that was. Have I felt dead ever since then? At least since that nickname died.

I dreaded this for years. I knew the spark of life had faded to a deadly sludge inside of me, but letting you go wasn’t just terrifying, it was impossible. I suppose the only way it was ever going to happen was if you killed me. And that you did. You squeezed out every ounce of will to live I ever had.

I don’t know when the moment was exactly, but I let you go. I reached out to touch you a few times, and maybe I still will, just to make sure you’re still there, that I didn’t dream the whole thing.

I thought I would have to wait for you to fade, but you’re already not here. I am amazed how easily I can ignore the thoughts of you that linger in the corners. I am amazed that my chest feels lighter than it has in three years.

I miss you. I do. And I love you. Always. But we have finally died. The heart I had that was full of you, it has finally stopped beating. And the death, the dark sludge, it has finally stopped pumping.

I feel more alive now, with this still heart, than I have in a long time. I know in time that I will rise, my heart will beat again. But for now, I enjoy the stillness.