There’s a thing about worries,
The big ones that take years to arrive
The small ones that come in each moment
The ones that are desperate pleas of “not again”
And the ones that are silent prayers for “not ever”.
Each one requires something,
Something to be given
Often taken
Something we seldom acknowledge we have
Until it’s all gone.
But in the moments we give or let be taken
We can instead hope.
For big things that may never come
For small things that always come
A gentle want for “again”
A loud proclamation of “at least once”.
And suddenly you may find
That something is refilled.
Indescribable, unmeasurable
infinite somedays and scarce others
Whatever it is. It feels good
And I could use a little more