Soon, I promise myself. Soon.
I will do it soon. It’s important. And I need it.

But I’m not ready.
But soon.

Soon I will be.

Soon comes. And I punt. It’s too big a loss right now, and it is. It’s too much change. It’s a lot to go without. I need the crutch. And I do. But I also need to go without.

Soon, I tell myself and I mean it this time.

Soon creeps up on me. It coasted the gentle surf of the good days and arrived at the crest of the inevitable storm. I am bewildered and rendered immobile just like I was the first time the sky fell and the winds howled, the first time I drowned. The second time. The other times. I don’t know why I’m here, unsheltered and unprotected, when I was meant to be gone. Get through this storm, and soon. Soon is a life vest, barely keeping me afloat.

Soon is an anchor. A thing I say but do not believe. A thing I know but am not ready to swallow. A thing I need but am not ready to feel.
I curl up beside soon at night, whisper to it across the darkness.

Soon. It’s a threat. It’s a vow.
But we both know I’m not leaving.

Not any time soon.

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