There are oftentimes I finish a book where I find myself in a literary limbo.
The characters I created such strong connections with dissipate into the atmosphere, yet the emotions I felt so greatly for them pulse throughout my veins.
The words have burned into my retinas, and the rawness of the story stained my fingertips as I traced the ink on the pages.
Her words sit in my throat and burn every time I swallow. I can feel my thoughts rumbling in my stomach as I sit here twisted up in knots. I cannot focus, and I cannot move. I feel permanently planted in this position, sitting and wondering, questioning and appreciating. I am angry, and I am sad. Her poignant words feel like blades digging into my body, carving me to a different person.
I am crying, and I am smiling. I feel caged and fortified, like someone is holding cement walls around my thoughts and prohibiting my expression from exploding in a frenzy of fireworks. And part of me wants to stay hidden, not yet ready to embark upon the noise of reality. Part of me wants to sit somberly against the hard, cold floor and wallow in my own thoughts, letting them entangle me in my inquisitions and drown me in my admiration. Yet somehow, I have never felt more liberated than I do at this moment. The moment that has lasted an eternity, the moment that stands still in time and lingers passively; the same moment that exists when you watch a raindrop glide down the car window or when you isolate your vision on one snowflake falling gently from the sky. I can feel the earth breathing through my skin, whispering for me to run, to pounce, to climb.
I want to fly, to ride the air like Milkman, and scream to the stars. I want to jump, to leap, and soar. We all fear for oblivion, for the disappearance of our lives, for the crumbling of our names. We all feel the drastic need to engrave our legacy into the stones left over by our ancestors, but Song of Solomon has changed my life.
I want to grow, like the stars in the sky, and I want explode, to collapse, in a nebulous web of chaos and utter beauty. I want my ashes sprinkled across the universe, in ever corner of the world. I want my hopes and aspirations to be reflected in every raindrop that falls from the clouds that hug mountains. I want my misery and agony to sting people in the eye like the sand of the desert. I want my insecurities and flaws to explore the depths of the planet like the dandelion seeds.
I no longer need to feel like I'm a part of nature because I am reminded of my humble beginnings. I was birthed from the cosmos, and I will carry that with my as the wind sweeps my from below.
