I worried myself to the edge. The coil at my heart wound so tight it would not loosen a fraction of an inch.
The being that calls itself me feared not being me anymore.
The cessation of thought meant the end of existence.
I believed my worry held up the universe.
Inside became too thick with thought,
so I took my fear outside, and
realized I was outside,
with the cool breeze carrying cool rain through the trees, onto my arms and face.
In the moment I realized that I am always provided for,
the lightning answered first. Then the thunder
(finally, she gets it, they seemed to say).