The Roadrunners Dance

I see the words stumble, slide out of your mouth. Watch them jaunt down the kilter of your body. Dream like I see their distinct little faces look up at me. I blink. Your words have developed into something bigger. Were they so burly the time before? Something clicks in my brain and your words start digging into my chest, searching for my heart. My deep inhalation is painful as I desperately try to fight them off. But they won't stop. And you're not calling them back.

I try to take a step but you flutter to where I am and take hold of my arm. 

"How could you do something like this?" I scream with my eyes. 

And your words are still carving away at the cavity that was my chest. 

Their weapons burn with each hack.

Breath in. Breath out. This will bring you potency.

What are your words doing now? Have they stopped? 

No. But something disparate is happening. 

They have taken on their former, softer cast. 

The blows aren't hurting anymore but I can still hear them.

Thump. Thump.

I watch your words glide over the folds on my countenance and blot out my tears. 

They are neatly ironing out the scowl from my brow. 

I feel their dainty feet and hands push me up into a better posture.

Thump. Thump.

Is this the same room we were in to begin with? 

Who is that stranger, that girl at the window? 

I don't recognize her.

Thump. Thump.

Still wary, I look down at my chest to find sutures and stitches. Or is it a sweater?

Where have your words gone now?

Thump. Thump.

What is that thumping if not your words?

Thump. Thump.

Realization. I can finally feel my heart beating. 

Who knew that it would be you to bring my heart back to life?

Thank you.