CW: eating disorder implied, weight loss

My friend moved to Arizona and lost ten pounds. I come to visit, and the temps soar to 115°F. "It's a dry heat," she says, and it has dried her to her bones.

We drive through the desert where red sand blows across the black pavement in soft undulating waves and the land plateaus on either side of us into the indeterminable distance. I want to feel lost here. Barren and unforgiving, this place was made for skeletons and I want it to dry me to my bones.

I roll down the window, letting the radio and our faltering conversation slip out with the warm breeze. I imagine these quiet sounds settling in the desert and wonder what will happen to them. I close my eyes, hear their crescendos, and realize the desert is alive. Of course. 

The music will thrive. It will accompany the whisper of a thousand creatures darting across the sand. It will harmonize the sound of the ocotillos reaching towards the sun. Blooming. Humming the pulse of a jackrabbit and the song of birds on the wind. My own heart thrums to join them. Pulling, twisting, saying we can't get lost here. Only grow.