A lifting

He watched the phrases dance across the page.

He heard the melodies. He felt the rhythms. He smelled fresh lilacs and tasted mint. And all the world burst forth from on the page.

Tensions, pent up, eased. His shoulders relaxed, having never sensed their tightness.

The cascading waterfall in his chest slowed to a trickle.

“So, this is peace,” he whispered, and was well.

A respite from the rush of frantic need, the quiet nearly overwhelmed him until he sank into it and allowed it to surround his troubled soul, to comfort him with its nothing. He scarcely had noticed the weight until it was lifted, and now this freedom astonished him with its lightness.

He heard the scratch at the corner of his consciousness, and he knew the relief was temporary. One by one, the troubles would settle on his shoulders again, but now he knew what it felt like to shrug them off, and perhaps he would learn to shrug.

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