We came because you called. You called until you were hoarse, your voice cracked like delicate china, a cherished sound warbling with the effort. Listen to me, please!!
The whole time we are closer than your next breath. You are so amusing, all worked up, sweaty palms sliding across a journal you’ll turn into a book. A book that’ll hopefully serve as evidence that what you asked for was already there. You just had to hocus pocus the tricks your mind plays, the stench of your heart dipped in hot oil, fried to a crisp by untrustworthy souls you let season you, poison you, steal your self image.
Don’t scream now. You need all you’ve got to heal and hope again. We listen before you speak. We pour salve while you sleep. We sit on the edges of the Sun and Moon and beam your way.
Silently, you catch your breath and feel a breeze beneath your skin, your blood vessels so many castanets ching chinging.
You are alive and almost well. But you knew that. You just like to hear the crashing waves of your voice when it trembles.