Still here

Okay, sure.
You write a bunch of journal entries about how you hate everything, and it all starts clawing up out of the tar like a big hairy tarantula with thousands after thousands of legs, and it begins putting sticky blackness in your nose and mouth and eyes, and soon you just spew it all out, back and forth, but it keeps coming like the tide filling holes in the sand.
Then something happens.
Something small and insignificant makes you start thinking about the good things, how they used to feel, how the breath in your lungs was once sweet and light and beautiful, and then you start writing about how maybe you can't see it and feel it but you can at least remember what a mouth empty of poison felt like, a mouth that shaped words and sang music and screamed with laughter.
It begins to write itself, and you can press your eyelids up a little further than you could the day before, and suddenly slits of light begin appearing between the blackness, and you start shaping things out of those bars of light, you start pestering yourself to push the skin further apart and let your eyeballs breathe a little deeper, and then one day the universe hurls a chance at you, and maybe you'd given up and thought this was it and nothing would ever come for you, no rope would ever tumble from the clouds, but it does, and you grab it, and it's terrifying, and the rope burns your hands and runs hard and scratches your legs, and you cling to it anyway, and then suddenly spiders are peeling off you like layers of your own filthy skin, and fuck it's blinding, the pain of so much light is unbearable, what is the smell of something coming back to life, and nothing pressing hard against your eyes makes you frightened to pry them apart from your cheeks, but the lashes come unstuck, and breathing gets thinner, easier, more liquid, and you open everything all at once, eyes lips lungs nostrils fingers legs ears and everything is more beautiful than you ever remembered or imagined or dreamed, and you wonder how you ever lived in that half existence, how you ever managed to hang on, but this is real now, this is life, this is hope, and it's all still here, and so are you.
So are you.