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.