Between Bruises & Blooms

Sam died
before I was ready
to understand
what he meant.

Maybe that is why
it hurts so much.

Because fear
has lived
in my body
for years.

In grocery store aisles.

At front doors.

In the dark
when everyone else
is sleeping.

In the space
between sending a message
and waiting
for the reply.

Fear has made
a home
out of places
that were never
supposed to be dangerous.

And then there was Sam—

terrified,
hurting,
knowing exactly
what waited for him,

and still refusing
to let fear
be the last thing
that belonged to him.

I think about that
more than I should.

About courage
not being
the absence
of shaking.

Not being
some fearless girl
with a sword
and perfect posture.

Maybe courage
is smaller.

Maybe it is
opening the door
when your chest
is already tightening.

Getting out of bed
after another night
without sleep.

Eating something
when your body
has forgotten hunger.

Answering the phone.

Going anyway.

Staying anyway.

Trying anyway.

Maybe courage
is simply saying

fear,
you can come with me,

but you do not
get to choose
where I go.

Sam never got
the life
he deserved.

That still
breaks something
in me.

But somehow
a fictional boy
who died
inside a story

left behind
a sentence
my anxiety
still needs.

Not that
I am never afraid.

I am.

God,
I am.

But I am learning

that being afraid
and being brave

were never
opposites.