Every time my mother doesn't text back,
My stomach churns, and I'm itching to press the green call button for the third time.
Every time my father doesn't come home on time,
I plead to God with every fibre of my being to protect him.
Every time I don't see my sister through the window when I walk home,
Images of cars and ice spilling red bombard my mind.
Every time my brother stays out a little late to play soccer with his friends,
Water pools my eyes as I run back to the playground, desperately.
—
I will be blunt.
I am afraid.
I am not brave.
The brave go to far away lands, searching for something. For adventure or something, I don't know.
The coward stays, too scared to go on an adventure,
try new things,
get rejected.
I admire the brave. Even though they can and probably would be naive.
Maybe I should try to be.
Maybe.
