I say
i am anxious.
Worried.
Sad.
He tells me, many feel that way. Many
go through this. Many
find there's a way out.
Riding through.
And i know he means the anxiety and worry and sadness
that is handled.
I wonder if
my eyes still hold traces of year long stretches of depression. If
my face is lined in all the places anxiety set itself in. If
my jaws and temples and cheek bones speak. If
the tenderness of my belly still serves to remind of three overdoses. if
my heartbeat tells its story in its endless ceaseless rhythm.
I want to just press him close so he can hear for himself
what i cannot
yet
say.