These days, I can no longer tell the difference between an earthquake and the throbbing of my pulse.
So I'm always on edge.
Back straight, eyes on the nearest escape route despite knowing we can't really outrun an earthquake.
Lying on the bed, I can hear the faint rumblings
That come before the tremors –
I can't tell whether they are real,
Or just the sound of my breath echoing back at me.
Each day feels like the last –
Is this what fear feels like?
An earthquake occured a week ago,
Left a part of it lodged in my throat.
I can't speak without my words quivering,
Without the sentences falling apart midway
A-Are you...
Okay?
Tell me – tell me how
I can
H-Help.
This will...
P-Pass
Right?
Is this t-the
End
?
I don't want to stutter so I don't speak.
I listen and read and look and look and look –
At the cracks – or are they cobwebs? – expanding and buildings crumbling,
At people scrambling to crouch under tables,
Feet running out into the streets,
Amidst the rumbling... rumbling... rumbling,
As if the earthquake n-never
Stopped.