the dread

I always knew when my life was going to drop out. I knew something bad was coming. I could feel it in my bones, moving, like a living thing. It crept into my joints and twisted my guts, making me feel nauseous and clammy, like I had eaten bad cheese, or smoked really bad pot. This, this thing, this sense, this awareness ... It haunts and lives in the corner of your eye, yes?
No matter how hard you try to focus, to pinpoint, no matter how fast you turn your head to try and catch it, you cannot. You can't see it plain. Not until it's on top of you. Not until it has knocked all your breath out with a hard kick to the soft spot in your belly.
You lean over.
You pant. You gasp.
And when you straighten to see what it is,

it's not a surprise.
Because you knew something
something
was on its way. You just didn't know it's name or how it would introduce itself at your door. Would it knock?
No. Of course not.
These things don't knock
or ring door bells.
They don't call first to see if you're busy, to see if your life is going oh so well and maybe we should do this at another time.
oh no
They huff and they puff and they
blow your house
down.

And it leaves you standing there, with dust and broken 2x4's and screws and nails with the names PROMISE and HOPE written on them but they are on the floor, they are buried, and you are standing

alone.

The screaming in your head and the shredding of your heart slams against the silence of your home, your room, your bed, your expectations of the future. The silence opens wide, wider, and swallows it all.
whole.
and in pieces.