I don’t want to do that again.

I don’t want to be up like this,

with my heart racing so that it no longer seems containable,

and my breaths so short and panicked.

That’s not what I wanted.

Here I lie, imaging the worst,

which is not even irrational or hyperbole,

since we’ve seen it–

I just don’t want to do that again.

But the fear, which drags its claws into the backs of my shoulders,

and whispers these possibilities which make my stomach buckle and my throat seize,

will make me stand straighter in the more morning

and speak louder,

because we’ve seen the worst

and I don’t want to do that again.