He says, you’re not weak.
I sit, slightly shaking,
looking into his eyes,
trying to trust his truth,
like imagining traveling to a star
300 million light years away.
Through a massive burst of tears, trembling,
I tell him, you don’t see what’s inside.
Each day, I’m not sure I will make it.
That is weak.
He asks, you’re here, aren’t you?
I try to smile.
Maybe I was strong today.