Weight

A week ago, I had the most perfect, loving boyfriend in the world. I could do the splits and hit a high A. I ran a mile nearly every day. I lost 4 pounds. I had promising auditions, and wonderful recommendation letters. I was confident. I was in control.

This week, I got dumped. I tore a muscle. I can't stretch, and I stopped running. My voice cracked, and I have to learn 5 new pieces for auditions in different languages. I stumble over every obstacle, overwhelmed by what feels endless. Walking down the halls in school, I feel heavy, plodding, slouching. I brace myself outside the classroom. Breathing deeply, I close my eyes, and try to smile. I cannot. My face feels heavy, pulling down on the corners of my mouth, and smiling is an effort I can't seem to come up with. I push through the incredible weight of the rest of the day.

Home again, I retire to my bedroom, and curl up in the rocking chair in the corner. My fingers trace the fading pick hearts painted on the armrests and follow the winding designs to the words on the sides. It was a present from my sisters. In their colorful handwriting, it says happy birthday, and goes on to remind me that even when the worlds turned against me, to sit and remember, that I'll always have them.

Rocking back and forth, I feel comforted. And I smile, nearly weightless.