Rhythmic

It's all about control. The things I can, the things I can't. Trying to find the balance between.

I am more acutely aware of my own heart beat more than ever. When it's the only sound you hear at night, lying alone in an empty bed. Contemplating everything, it's the loudest noise in the world, that constant beat, the thunder of your own blood pulsing through your veins, it's like red heat behind my eyes, filling my ears, I am so highly attuned to it I can almost smell it.

Sleep, both elusive and fickle. Slipping through my fingers, making my eyes heavy though they refuse to close, making my head fuzzy though it refuses to quiet completely. Sleep doesn't come. And neither does he. I cannot control the latter, but it seems the harder I try to control the former, the further it slips from my grasp. So I count the heart beats,
breathe deeply, slow it down, try to make my heart beat slower. It's become a game.

I step on the treadmill each morning. I watch my beats become numbers on a screen and I pull back, trying to make them conform, trying to calm the numbers, force them into where I want them to be. It's hard. I listen to music while I run, and every second song or so I just want to kick into high gear and out run myself, but the beats are too fast and I need to tame them. So I pull it back. Breath slower, try to make my heart beat the way I want it to.

It's futile.
My heart will continue to beat the same way it always has.....
for him.

2009-09-09 11:23 a.m.