On Monsters Beneath the Bed

This morning I found the courage to reach beneath my bed

and pull out a question I’ve been hiding for a while now.

Mostly because I wasn’t sure I could handle the answer once I brought it into the light.

But the courage was impulsive and so were my actions.

I stuck my hand way back there and reached carefully around my sharp-edged doubts,

and behind all the small tarnished worries I can’t seem to get rid off.

And there it was, the gilded question, its value guessed at but still undetermined.

I grabbed hold of it and pulled it out before my courage betrayed me….

“DOES   GOD   BREAK   HEARTS?”

There it is.

Even now, my stomach quivers. My eyelids blink at increased speed. My tear ducts awaken alarmed.

Does. God. Break. Hearts?

I feel my ears filling with white noise; my own body shifting into survival mode.

I cannot bear the possibility of answers.

So I take the shiny question, my thumb and index finger pinching at its top corners, and I pin it up delicately in the middle of the room.

I circle around it slowly.

The white noise gets louder.