The fire crackles.
Anxiety sidles up beside me.
She’s been impatient all evening,
puts a blanket over her lap,
and smiles at me
It’s too early to say if this feeling will overcome me,
Sometimes I think I want it to.
I think it’s interesting that I’m inclined to writing
but my second worst fear is that I say too much
or I said the wrong thing.
My need to know everything backfires
when my mouth lets one thing slip,
reckless.
It always feels reckless in the aftermath.
In the recollection.
In the darkness.
And it feels like a slow drowning,
arms working too hard to stay afloat.
Water sloshing in my lungs
as I cough up every regret,
gasping for relief.
My body aches and shivers,
wishing I hadn’t said anything at all.
The quiet part of me,
that waits,
holds secrets close
wars with the desperate part
that yearns
for connection.
I’m split in two,
maybe seven.
And I’m afraid of everything,
even me.
Here. Soon. Please. 