#breeze (Post 1/3)
Sweat is dripping from her thighs.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Forming a puddle of water on the sleek leather chair.
She’s looking down.
Half-aware of what is happening.
Half-gone.
Her face is damp.
Is it the tears she’s been freely releasing?
Is it the simmering heat?
Summer that’s burning into her skin?
She’s not sure. Doesn’t care.
After all, she’s in her own world.
Mesmerized by her pain.
Her heart is racing.
She’s struggling to breathe.
Trying to keep her head up high.
It takes hard fucking work to keep going,
to inhale,
exhale.
To embrace a new breath,
to allow it to leave her body again.
One catastrophe after the other.
A new fire to put out every minute.
So much drama.
So much struggle.
If she’s going to have to handle another thing, she’s going to snap.
Freak.
Go fucking insane.
It’s. All. Too. Much.
She can’t deal anymore.
Doesn’t want to continue.
Not like this.
It’s not just one thing.
It’s ALL of it.
Her entire life.
So much emotional crap.
Sweaty.
Damp.
Fed up.
And beaten.
That’s how she feels, yes.
Beaten.
By life.
But, what’s that she feels…
Softly… softly…
She needs a break.
From life.
But she knows that’s not possible right now.
It’s not happening.
Instead, she’s sitting in her misery.
Literally in a puddle of her body’s most stressful thoughts.
Unable to pull herself out.
Knowing that she needs something, anything, to pull her back into awareness.
Knowing that she needs a lifeline.
Like now…
In the midst of all that heat. In the heart of her anguish…
She feels a gentle Summer breeze and it carries a whisper to her…
A whisper of … what’s that it’s saying?
She leans in…
xxx,
Anne-Sophie
