The hard red hurt
comes back.
Exhaustive doubts gnaw
at the back of my eyes.
They speak a language
I can't deny.
There they are
those soft sly words,
whispered to me.
If anyone else was listening,
they would think it was so absurd.
I call to the memories
with moist burning cheeks,
of my friend, my child, husband, parent.
I believe in you.
I miss you.
I love you.
I am proud of you.
But still, the fears haunt me
as the cotton pillow
hugs my face.
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