The Space Between My Heart and Your Brain

I walk to the edge,

a body lingering -

past instinctual hesitation.

Move toward the indefinite.

The final wave submerges my eyes - are always closed.

Will it be easier this way?

Can you hear my heart?

A tiny ripple traveling 6,345 kilometers into your cup.

I slides down your throat, swirling into your stomach, past the small bowel, where I am processed into the bloodstream and filtered within your urinary system.

Without a second thought, I am flushed by your hand, down an entanglement of rust-stained pipes, back into my swelling lungs.

If I consume enough salt water, can I change my chemical composition and join our bodies into one?

My ripple disappears.

“...so peaceful.”

“...in a better place.”

Do they know I don’t believe in God?

I am a prisoner afraid to leave an unlocked cell.

4 minutes, 39 seconds until animalistic instinct pulls my head to the surface,

forcing in another day.

Where is the space between not wanting to die and forgetting how to live?

Remove the parietal lobe.

Perform a lobotomy on our memories.

Stop pretending I don’t -

exist deep inside the medial temporal lobe, in a region known as the limbic system.

I am a chemical signal transmitted between interneurons.

A flash of color momentarily caught on the screen of an MRI.

Only if you think of me.