If We Survive This

by Racquel Marie

Numbness fills the spaces where my heart has broken. Compartmentalize, I tell myself. Shove it down and away, then push back toward purpose.

you don’t realize how loud the world is until it dies.

Understanding tries to wiggle next to my sense of betrayal, but there isn’t enough room in my chest for both. The bad feelings always swell.

Of all the things I have to grieve, capitalism will never be one of them.

The bloody little bite glimmers in the moonlight.

!!!!!!!!!! I was a little worried when she said she was using the jacket along with her hand to cover her mouth while knocking her out especially because she made a point to mention how she went outside with her WITHOUT her gloves

“I’m scared,” she repeats, “of you dying. Whether you are or aren’t anymore.” The words strike us both. “I have done a lot of things lately that I’m not proud of,” she continues, staring me down. “But keeping you alive is not one of them.”

I wanted to be unlike myself so bad, to be the one who finally held the painful truth to their chest and protected others from it. The one who led everyone to safety, a place where the bad things couldn’t touch us anymore. The one who lives. Instead, I’m still exactly like I’ve always been. Running, paranoid, losing hope. I’ve been here before and I will be here again. It’s as inevitable as life and death. An endless cycle, inescapable. Always me.

“I couldn’t handle it, either.” It’s a wet, deathbed confession that springs tears to my eyes, making fighting even more difficult as the world blurs. “I was always scared, too.” I can’t turn to him, but I know he’s crying. His words are as drenched in tears as I am in blood. “It was never just you.”