The heart stops,
stomach drops,
and fear attacks
tearing and scraping the insides.
Stepping back, it’s not the right time.
It’s too delicate; my hands are tied.

I stall. I ruminate. I do all the things not to destroy this.
I dread that I will, gravely… to the point of not moving.
This is what it’s like when people become a ghost.
It’s too much to go forward.
So, I turn
in the opposite...

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It’s a walking numbness, a dull pain  
that sometimes presents itself in waves. 
It slowly builds, and one day, every few weeks it explodes. 
I can’t bring myself out of bed. 
The rolling tears subside for a moment only to build again and again. 
The world outside, and the family inside, doesn’t exist, only what’s happening right here. 
Only this pillow, only this blanket, only the thoughts ...

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