Witness

Witness it. See it. Feel it. Show it.

But please, just please...at least do something to show you're still there.

It's not faith if you see it with your eyes, but my eyes are blurred anyway, so what good is it?

I wake up each morning and rub the sandy sleep from my eyes but still, I cannot see those crisp autumn leaves against the milk-blue sky. What's wrong with me? Do I need to get my eyes examined?

They won't find anything because the doctors are looking in all the wrong places. The eyes are not the culprit. The heart is. Dead, dead heart disease, my dear...scour all your medical references, but it's not there. No one wants to talk about it.

They push their wire-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of their formidable noses and look to the left but never directly at you when you plead, question about your illness....they leaf meaninglessly through their twenty-tree textbooks but they are faking it, darling...the intellectuals know the answer but they are silent, for no touching evidence backs it up. No one wants to talk about it.

Please. Slap me across the face, pinch my lifeless cheeks, do something...anything to save me from the numbness and the frostbite of the heart that threatens my very being. Oh, I'm sane...sane as the doctors.

Something is to be said for at least feeling a tiny spark when I look up. Fan the flames?