Anxiety

It's like the dripping of an ocean; the tension in your jaw; the constant, present feeling of that dream you almost remember.
It's like someone lifted the drain-stopper but you don't know which part of that analogy you are.
It's like that part in the movie that you know is going to change everything.
But you don't know the decision. You don't even know the genre.
It's like fightorflightorfightorflight but nothing happens.
You smile calm like a riptide, embarrassed that you misspelled your diagnosis.
It's like white noise in your whole body you don't know how to clear.
But what if you did? What would be left?

Everything is fine. It's fine. Everything is fine.