Rest

"Welcome home," the bus driver said as I fumbled to find the right transit card and drag my bag to a seat. It was all I could to do keep from crying into his kind face. Dawn slowly rose over Stockholm, as the heavy autumn fogs lifted from the trees, and I didn't know if I was happy to be there or sad. People looked the same, only with more clothing than before, their cheeks flushed with the cold season. I sank into the comforts of people I know and love. They will carry me through every dreaded step of this journey. My phone rang in the noisy bar (the one in the building I used to call home; it was such a strange scene to be there), and she said Don't be surprised if she doesn't make it. We don't want her to feel any more pain. I just wanted you to be prepared. 

Thirty-six hours pass with no sleep. I am so tired I no longer make sense. But when the lights are finally out, the room is finally quiet, I do not drift away. I cannot. 

Whatever will come now, will come. I lean against the outstretched arms around me. Trust in the space where I may fall.