I feel like this is a scene from a cheesy romantic comedy (or tragedy, but let's not get ahead of ourselves), like the bad breakup aftermath. You know, since it's four in the morning, there's a box of Kleenex tissues beside my pillow, wads of used paper snot gathered to one side of my bed, my head's pounding and my breaths are coming out via spasms from my choked throat.

I feel cold, and numb, as though the appendages attached to the my central body are nothing more than what they are -- appendages. I feel as though it would take less than a slight pull to break off my toes, my calves, my purple-tipped fingernails...I've got a sweater and two layers of blankets on my, but the coldness, the numbness -- they won't go away.

My English prof says that crying is a sign of two things: self-service, and manipulation. Ironically, while fat, ugly, salty drops rolled down my face and the paramedics arrived, all I could think of were two things: the fact that I could now finally relate to people who have experienced death in the close family, and how I wish I could speak not to anyone, anywhere, but to that same prof, in his small, sheltered office with the box of Kleenex tissues to the one side of his desk.

What would he say?

The ambulance has long gone, though the remains of a heartbeat device and a gas pump are still scattered across the bedroom floor. Someone needs to clear them out, but it's not going to be me; I'm still trying to piece together my appendage nerves.

I feel cold, and numb, and my eyes sting, but it's nothing compared to the pain of loss, as self-serving and manipulative that may feel.

Just hold on, alright? Like, super tight. Hold on with your life.

Labels: college 1, gee