Is it really

Depression

If you can acknowledge

That you're not ok?

Is it really

Denial

If you know why

It turned out this way?

Is it really

Anxiety

If you have a

Valid reason to worry?

I rewind
and play that
sentence
repeatedly
in my mind,
like a cassette tape—
And every
word of it
hurts.

Most times,
I feel it’s a
dramatic act.
I don’t know
what’s real
or what’s not,
there’s a knot
in my stomach.
Tapes distorted,
voices corrupted
them—

“We care about you—”
wHeRE aRe YoU—
“Where have you been—”
wE MisS yOu—
“Please come back—”
“We WaNt you BaCk—*

We all want you back…

A magical sea .
Shimmering all around
Like blue stained glass .
A bridge between the veils .
Unseen by my eyes .
But it draws the heart to look out .

Your memory fades
like stiff autumn leaves
quietly dancing away
without warning,

centuries past
we were together,
sounds of laughter and love
cannot keep you away

at last,
the tired door closes
rudely ending all dreams
and you are there,
waiting

I pretend I do not know you
but, it is useless.

I stood in the hallway,
the familiar scent of jasmine hanging heavy—
my mother’s perfume.

I called her name,
but it wasn’t the voice of my mother
that answered.

It was mine—
but younger.

I turned the corner,
and there she was—
sitting at the kitchen table,
but her eyes…
they weren’t hers anymore.

"I’ve waited for you,"
she whispered,
and the room went cold.

I reached for her,
but my fingers sank into her skin—
soft, pliable,
like wax—
too easy.

And I realized too late—
she wasn’t waiting for me.
She was pulling me in.

Then I felt it—
a slow, unbearable pressure in my chest.
I couldn’t breathe.

"You’ll never leave me again."

Maybe we’ll be fine,  
Rain and tears meet in the night,  
Hands held through the storm.