When my body speaks, I listen.
It’s like crickets have built a home in my ears.
I know, that image is graphic. But imagine:
a sound that grows and grows; a sound that
follows you wherever you go, while the world
shifts like everything is filtered through
a fish-eye lens.
It’s when logic and emotion don’t quite connect.
When my brain reassures one thing, but my legs
quake with fatigue. Because any minute now,
the cracks in the pavement will yawn wide enough
for me to fall through.
It is this and all the other things I explain
in soft, stuttering breaths, because I still feel
compelled to apologize for these moments of pain.
But then you tell me you’re fine, it’s okay in a voice
that has the cadence of waves, rocking me back
to safety and shore.
—N.
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