Overflowing

You okay? he asks.

And I wonder how to cram
a thunderstorm into a teacup.

I’m fine.

But fine is brittle glass
and we both hear it shatter.

He waits.
In his eyes there is stillness,
a space wide enough to lay down
all the things I don't want to say.

So I try again.

I'm afraid of moving forward.
I'm afraid of standing still.
I'm tired of hiding from shadows.
I'm drowning in thoughts too sharp to touch.
You deserve so much more than this tangle of scars.

The thunderstorm grows to a hurricane,
the teacup overflows.

Tears.

He gathers the storm clouds in his arms,
catches the falling pieces,
puts them all gently back into the cup.

I'm here, he whispers.

And somehow, it's enough.
I'm still breaking,
But I'm not breaking
alone.