I think we won't work
And I lie in my bed
With what can only be called
Dread
I make my little plans
Of how this time I won't
Reach for you
Kiss you
Take your hand in mine
To clearly communicate
This feeling of impending something
Maybe nothing
But in the lonely hours I can't shake it
And I think I'd rather die
And then there's you
Your voice on the phone
The sudden lifting up
Like a curtain pulling back
Like the clouds blown away
The sun comes out and your voice pulls me up
Into a whirling mealestrome of thoughts
And ideas about the future and our day today
And I suddenly no longer feel
Anything
But hope and anticipation
And then there's me
And myself and my own insecurities
About us and about love and most importantly
About the true fragility of life
And the true nature and cost of attachement
And whether freedom from fear
Is not also barment from hope
And whether I have to face myself
When I hear your voice and when I'm alone
And then there's this
Growth
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