Trepidation

Trepidation One second I am watching Typing. . . . . . . (blank) Why did you leave? . . . . . . (hello) I feel empty. My keyboard is humming stop Trepidation I look forward to today stop Trepidation I keep telling myself it’ll get better. Once I’m grown. Insufferable silence Leaves the mind derelict of all thoughts Suspended in motion Yet time cannot be caught Reaching— For something, For anything, fingertips grasping at the warmth of a moment already lost. (Click. Click. Click.) The keys whisper secrets I cannot decipher, a language of absence. A breath, a blink, a flicker. but this time, I catch it. Hold it Steady. stop (swallow) Let it settle Trepidation Minutes pass Hours I forgot to check your 2 New Messages. I felt, better. Not whole, not fixed, but lighter. Settling in . . . . . . (say something) (why do you do this?) A deep breath. A stretch of fingers The weight is still there, but it shifts, just enough. . . . . . . I was just thinking. (gulp) (exhale) For the first time in days, the air doesn’t feel heavy. The world softens. The static quiets. This time, I let the light in. Trepidation I push my chair back, feet hitting the floor, real, solid. Step forward. The hallway is warm, bathed in a glow I didn’t notice before. The clock keeps ticking, but it no longer mocks me. A sip of water. A stretch. The weight of the day does not crush me. Not today. For the first time in a while, the silence is not so empty. I take another breath. And this time, I don’t hold it in.