Catharsis
There’s a certain feeling after I cry.
A cool sensation pooling in my feet, threatening to crawl up my calves, never quite making it
There. A sorta hollow buzz from my knees to my stomach, feeling there but not in the way for once. Arms heavy like fatigue, but so much softer—much kinder—all the way down to the tips of my phalanges, twitching ever so softly. Aware of the thud of life—for once not so thunderous, slowly and steady.
I’d like to call this feeling calm,
I think that’s her name.
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