What It Feels Like
I don’t remember what it feels like.
I open my eyes. I know where I am, who I am, what happened. I retrace the spiral of my fall in my mind. Every minute detail. I see the faces of those watching, some still smiling, some surprised, some mid-speech. I see the shadows sticking to every surface as the sun stops and the angle of the light beams crossly down. The bricks, the mortar, the concrete, the fiberglass, metal and plastic of the city around me provides the colors and the forms for the shadows. All of them hard.
Were I to paint it, dark heavy lines and hard edges contrasting with stark white and splashed with muted reds and sunny lime greens would erupt onto the canvas. If it were music, it would be a single note; the very last sound I heard. It would fade to silence, leaving just me.
I know what I am, how to feel, how to see and hear and think.
Dazzled by the landing; so abrupt, so final, I simply stare at nothing, in awe of the intricacies of life all around me.
I forgot what living feels like.