Waiting. The word itself comes out so naturally. The syllables fall out like an antonym, unfortunate that I deal in definites. When it's the reality that I'm left with. We're sparring. Each nip of whiskey lessens his reach.
I'm waiting by the phone. Waiting to hear ringing. The waiting for the words that will reassure me. No more shadow seas, familial embrace. I want the syllables to sing out in a rising pattern of healing. Heal what may be the next tragedy in my stunted family tree. Just one phrase that can calm these shaky, powerless hands.
"he's going to be okay"
I'm waiting by the phone. Waiting to hear ringing. The waiting for the words that will reassure me. No more shadow seas, familial embrace. I want the syllables to sing out in a rising pattern of healing. Heal what may be the next tragedy in my stunted family tree. Just one phrase that can calm these shaky, powerless hands.
"he's going to be okay"
babyblue:
What's going on?
juliette:
best wishes