You came home last night as my heart was in my throat, shoulders clutched tight, as I fought my stupid animal brain of base instincts.
He's alive. He's fine. He's just not coming home.
My fear turned to anger so fast.
The relief so exhausting i felt I could fall asleep as you leaned over me.
Face concerned, voice so soft and lovely.
What would I do
I wouldn't
I wouldn't do anything if the news came.
Time would stop, the world would stop.
We would be stopped.
I scolded you, the fear clear to me and to you. You leaned over me, kissed me, stroked my head and hair.
Exhaustion and worry written into every line of my body.
Yes, I pretended all day and night I was not worried
I ate, I wrote, I talked.
I thought, "this is what it would be like without him"
I tried to trick myself to stop the fear.
And now I write to release the fear.
You are alive and you tried to contact me.
You understand my fear.
You love me and I love you so much.
