Every morning I wake up
and I do not move right away.

I lie still
and listen to the house
hoping to hear something.

I wait for a small sound,
a chair moving,
a door opening,
a cup touching the table.

If I hear something,
my chest feels lighter.

If I don’t,
I stay in bed a little longer
and tell myself
everything is fine.

I walk slowly past her door.
Sometimes I stand there
without knocking.
Sometimes I almost call her name
but stop.

I am afraid of silence.
I am afraid of what silence can mean.

I try not to love too loudly.
I try not to depend too much.
I tell myself
if I hold less,
it will hurt less.

But love does not listen.

When I go outside
I keep checking the time.
I do not stay away too long.
I do not let the day pull me far.

At night,
before I close my eyes,
I whisper the same line again and again,
like a child crying in the dark.

I tell the morning
to come back the same as it left.

And when it does,
I breathe
like someone who was waiting
under water.

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Fears. What are yours?