for the Soul

I'm coming over, he writes from the subway platform. You need to eat. My head swims, every exertion of energy backfires and I sit panting on the couch, or the bed, or the floor. My pale winter skin becomes translucent, my muscles ache, and yet how reluctantly I accept, nodding quietly at the phone like it could explain the intricacies of my tangled heart. Do better, a voice in the back of my cotton balled head repeats. Say yes please.

There's a certain calm in surrender. Like once you've admitted defeat you can relax, but no sooner. It's easy to seem like you know what you're doing.

It's so much harder admitting you've miles yet to go.