You aren’t supposed to know.
I didn’t mean to let you in on the secret.
I’m supposed to be suffering, desperate, panicked, in despair.
But I’m not.

I’m… okay.
And that makes me a little panicked.
Because what will you say if you know?
How can I ask you to save me
If I don’t need saving?

So I’m hiding.
Hiding my peace, the calm inside.
Which, naturally, is easy to conceal.
Though I feel guilty.

Guilty that I am letting go.
I love you, I want you, but I am letting go… of fear.
I keep expecting myself to cling to the uncertainty
The constant insecurity that is validated only if I fall apart.

I am whole. Here. Now. I am whole.
But you aren’t supposed to know.

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