It’s been so long since I felt it in my chest.
Usually it’s in the pit of my stomach, eating me away and making me feel sick, even if it’s somewhat sweet.
Often it’s on the back of my neck, chills from the cold and goosebumps, lonely and lovelorn and making it hard to keep my head up.
Normally it’s in my hands, shaking and grasping at something that was never really mine to hold, the feeling of it floating away against my fingertips.
I always find I feel it in my bones, invading my marrow until I become someone I don’t want to be, fragile and brittle from medicine someone told me would heal me.
But this time I feel it in my chest.
I feel the racing flutter of my heart keeping me awake, the kind of happy that almost hurts me with how terrified I am to lose it.
I feel it in the corners of my mouth that keep twitching into a smile when I think of you for too long.
I feel it in my feet, they can’t stop dancing to the music and melodies you make inside my rib cage.
I feel it in the parts of me that aren’t physical at all, far away up in the clouds, my daydreams chasing after the delight.
It’s unusual, rare, miraculous that I ever feel it in my chest, but I do.
I feel you in my heart.
Samantha Smolko is a fourth-year Psychology major. SS888417@wcupa.edu
Beautiful!