I wait at the window and I watch her sitting out there in the air, empty and open to the early morning.

I am motionless and I wonder if I went out there and stood looking at her if she would feel in that moment that life and death themselves were the simplest things anyone would ever know and that questions were more fulfilling than the answers. That our brokenness was our only claim to existence.
We would be aware, but untouched. One second would trip on the next and we would surface and the roar would fill our heads again.

She blinks and focuses, she sees me. She looks at me with an apology on her face, waiting for something readable on mine.

Well, I guess I always thought it would feel different in the moment when someone saved my life. I thought I would feel more than this, but all I feel is white.