Walking Toward the Rim of Numbed Despair

Closer and closer I walked, closer I walked on the trail toward the rim of My numbed despair. Her gaze transfixed on Me, and Mine on hers.

I was approaching the boundaries of those familiar feelings that had desiccated months ago–back when I could still feel the moisture of My fresh diagnoses on My cheeks.

But I was devoid of fear because I had already died a hundred times in the depths of My idleness–envisioning how My ashes would scatter in the cool ocean breeze of the Pacific, sublimely, and the looks of grief on all the passengers on that sunlit deck–on afternoons when I lied in bed with closed eyes, aching knees, and swollen hope.