Lily King

‘It’s all right.’ The bees in my chest stir.

I don’t write because I think I have something to say. I write because if I don’t, everything feels even worse.

I love these geese. They make my chest tight and full and help me believe that things will be all right again, that I will pass through this time as I have passed through other times, that the vast and threatening blank ahead of me is a mere specter, that life is lighter and more playful than I’m giving it credit for.

My mother will be worrying about me, and I can’t tell her that I’m okay.

The geese don’t care that I’m crying again. They’re used to it.

If he knew how much I loved him it would terrify him