Its Late.
The mantra rings through me as I go about my day, waiting.
Waiting and waiting.
Body tense.
All I can think is, its Late.
I can't focus on the work in front of me.
Eyes looking at nothing in the distance.
My body in flight or fight mode.
But there's nowhere to flee.
The threat is inside me.
Distractions are all I have left.
And waiting.
There's no hope.
If it's taken from me, I don't know if I'd survive.
So I wait, wishing I could speak with someone.
But it's too soon. It's not that late.
The mouth speaks and now two are waiting.
Waiting and waiting and waiting.
Until something can be done.
Plans have been made, but it's too soon to act.
So we wait.
One gives in and checks.
It's too early, but maybe it will help.
Only a little.
It's still too early.
And we wait.
Finally, finally hope slithers into us.
We relax a little.
Breaths come out easier.
But we still wait.
It's too soon to know.
So we wait.
