I feel it stir beneath the skin.
It’s warmth slithering,
Rippling beneath the surface.
Pressing a hand to my chest,
I push against the bone.
Trying to quiet the quickening drum.
It thrummed stronger still.
Fear grips my throat.
Choking the air from my lungs,
Tightening its talons.
Creeping into my gasping mouth.
I feel the words slip to the tip of my tongue.
An uncontrollable fire dancing across my lips.
Your eyes grip mine, unflinching.
My future puddled at your feet.
I tell my family I love them too often. It’s a pont of irration for some, if not most. No one wants to hear,”I love you” when they are off to the bathroom.
At this point it’s more of a compulsion. I say it when I don’t mean to.
Funny thing is, I’m terrified of saying it to people. It’s the same level of anxiety I feel when I am going somewhere new. Fear of the unknown.
I don;t know how people will react when they hear it.
Will they say it back?
Will they leave?