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What now?
I have listened to the voices, the thoughts, the cards, the dream.
I face the truth, looking into your eyes.
No more lies — just set me free, I thought.
The truth, or fragments of it, comes when I ask,
but not in the shape I hoped for.
Sometimes being called crazy
hurts less than knowing the shadow beneath.
There are no winners
when intuition confirms
what you had prayed was only anxiety and nightmares.
I go back and forth, laying out the timeline:
the first I love you, the plans, the conversations —
all just after she told you about
the possibility of carrying your child.
The math burns in my mind,
your blue eyes haunt the corners of it —
how did I not see
the storm folded quietly behind them?
Perhaps my mind always knew.
Perhaps it stitched fragments together,
called it intuition,
and whispered it into being
on a Thursday night that would not let me sleep.
