I used to think realization was the feeling you got when your skin flared
up and the hair on your arms turned into thin stalagmites, while your chest
pushed into itself like a man-sized "return to sender" stamp dug into
your skin. I used to think it was when
your head was so light that you couldn't stop it from rolling around, when your
eyes darted across the room because everything was final and you wanted none of
it. I was wrong. Realization is when all those stalagmites
melt, cooling off your skin and then traveling through your arms and into your
chest. It washes away the ink of that
stamp when it gets there, and then, impossibly, the inky water rises up into
your head, weighing it down, locking your eyeballs in place, front and
center. All that static in your arms is
gone, but a dull trickle of black water slowly falls through your chest, not so
much an impression anymore, just a murky cloud pooling around your
ribcage.
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