The days have turned tenuous. Like every inch of my skin, stretched and laid out flat, from end to end. Covering miles of unpreparedness. Vast expanses of hesitation, like a lake frozen over. I must tread across these. One day to the next. While my blood has turned cold, only bubbling violently beneath the surface with every momentary glimpse of hope. Of surety.
There’s a muscle twitching, it won’t relent. It’s a sign if life, it’s a sign of a fight. It’s a sign of movement. Preparedness maybe?
It’s the night that always brings calm. Like a steady, thick stream of cooling oil poured on my scalp that seeps into every pore. Deep beneath it all, working from within and bringing quiet back again.