Love is worry.
Love is ache and tear, fretting over what logically is nothing at all.
Things are fine.
Things are fine, right?
They must be safe. Healthy.
That's all that matters, truly.
The rest to a tired psyche is a beautiful grace well deserved.
But it leaves a worry that something has gone wrong. That something is amiss.
They are safe.
They are healthy.
They will be just fine.
All one must do is wait.
I can be patient. I can wait.
They will be okay.
