Between Bruises & Blooms

I hate the kind of waiting
that lives in the body.

The kind
that turns hands into tremors,
thoughts into sirens,
every silence
into something sharp.

I keep telling myself
not to imagine
the worst.

But fear
is a hungry thing.

It takes one unanswered question
and builds a whole house
inside my chest.

Tonight,
I am trying
not to live there.

Trying to remember
that uncertainty
is not the same
as loss.

That not knowing
is not an ending.

Still,

my heart keeps pacing.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Like it knows
something I don’t.

And all I can do
is wait—

with my hands shaking,

my hope clenched
between my teeth,

and every part of me
begging the universe

please,

let what belongs
with me

find its way
home.