I want to know I am safe.
I want to know I am cared for.
I want space to breathe. To think. To feel. To know. To be.
I want the promise that everything’s going to be okay.
Everything.
Okay.
I don’t want you to be mad at me.
I don’t want you to misunderstand.
I don’t want to imagine unkind things about you or have you imagine them about me.
I want rainbows and sunshine.
I want closeness and connection.
I don’t want to carry this heaviness.
I don’t want this pain.
I don’t want to feel the squeeze in my chest as my heart breaks in pieces.
Will someone please promise me it’s all going to be okay?
I long to feel held. Swaddled. In softness that presses in and assures me there’s no way I can fall.
I long for the comfort of feeling full. Abundance. No risk of emptiness. Buoyed, floating. I stuff my mouth in an effort to fill me from the inside. To replace what the world has emptied. Taken. If my skin feels it may burst at the seams, then I know I’ll have extra to give.
The world is heavy and filled with uncertainty.
No one can tell me it’s going to be okay.
The sun will shine.
And the rain will fall.
My heart will swell.
And my heart will break.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Only this moment. Not even the next.
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