There it was that a kind heart would learn to break. A strange and wild sense could cram itself into the smallest of places. Places we thought safe, places we thought we ruled, inside our own comfort of a body. This wasn’t the case for Willow. Her hands were sweating in a profusion of anxietal panics. They laid her out. The bed we should’ve been harmlessly snuggled on was bled with porous release. Her breath couldn’t catch a supple rhythm anymore than it could bare to even yield its life force.
“Mom.” Willow teared with the word. It’s strength not giving in its production. “Mom I can’t see anything.”