My eyelids feel like they weigh more than any other part of my body.
I feel blood moving through my hands. I clench them into fists and feel it stronger, the beats growing in intensity and fighting harder to push through.
It spreads to my arms and my whole body tenses until I feel the blood pumping through my legs to the tips of my toes back to my chest where it beats the hardest.
I let out a sigh and my body relaxes. The only blood I feel now is in my hands. Tiny pulses through my fingertips.
I know I am alive. I can feel it. I can hear the hum of the melody I sing in the shower as it vibrates off my lips. I can smell the shampoo in my hair. I can feel the hot water run down my arms and my back. I can taste the thick water vapor in the air. I can see the way the soap bubbles off me and into the drain below.
I know these things.
I see them.
I hear them.
I smell them.
I taste them.
I feel them.
Yet I still feel like I am not living.
This is not living.
