And so I wait.

I’m afraid to leave the safety of inside, where I feel a false sense of control. 

I’m afraid of being in the middle of the street, the park, alone, alone.

Exposed and vulnerable. 

When the call comes. 

When I can neither hide nor pretend any longer from the reality

of what could be. As though I can presently think it out of being. 

I long for words that will put my thoughts in order.

But there are none. Nothing can help, nothing can make sense of it.

The helplessness, the fear.

The hope amongst the anticipation of possible grief, 

Whirring up in the pit of my stomach

The base of my skull. How can it all feel so very heavy 

Yet leave me without any gravity? 

How can it be ? 

How can it be?