It’s like this: you aren’t aware of your paralysis until someone for some bizarre reason, visits you in the hospital. And you see them move and dance in a way that fully believes in the hands of God to lead them; effortlessly. At this moment, you crawl out from under the hands of gravity. It loses control of your body as your heart falls to your stomach and your head floats. You want the same effortlessness.

So you learn. In fact, they’re the ones to teach you, returning day after day. They’re patient in the way their hands move with your body, knowing it’s hard to believe in something you have never known to be there. They teach you how to breathe.

But one day they don’t come. The next day, they don’t either. Nor the day after. Waiting at the door doesn’t stir their affections, scratching at it only makes them more irritable. You develop a cough.

You begin to doubt if you will ever learn how to breathe and dance in the breath of God, for no one taught you. You attempt to teach yourself and it’s awkward and clumsy as you stumble around with a disheveled appearance, trying to figure out what in the hell it looks like to not care so much. You cough.

But you learn. At least, you think you have it down, until they return.

You’re a victim of paralysis and you wonder if you ever knew what a verb was in the first place.

You cough.


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