Musings

Vulnerable. Curled up, curled in. Hiding. Emotions askew, rampaging, until my Self seeks sanctuary in sleep. There, my dreams are quieter things and less hostile than the waking world.
Safety in loving arms in my dreams: no decisions to be made, no problems to solve.
For just a day, someone else to hold me safe, someone else to keep the pain at bay. Someone else to understand the agony of functioning when the body’s pain is too deep, and every step is like a knife. Someone else to be the safe one, the shelter. Someone else to keep the phone on, nearby, every moment. Someone else to be the rational one, the reasonable one. Someone else to sort the emotional tangles in my head.

Where is safety when it is you, and you are weak? Where is comfort, when it is you, and you are frightened? Where is understanding, when it is you and you are confused?

It is in the arms of the lover, but where is that, when the lover isn’t there?