Every Last Word

by Tamara Ireland Stone

The anxiety attacks are like earthquakes. I’m always relieved when the ground stops shaking, but I know there will be another one eventually, and again, I’ll never see it coming.

I’ll be Samantha again. And more than anything, I’ll be missing Sam.

The thoughts start gathering, butting up against the caution tape surrounding my brain, strategizing and preparing to rush in and take over.

“I didn’t go there looking for you. I went looking for me.” My voice is soft, low, and shaky. “But now, here you are, and somehow, in finding you, I think I’ve found myself.”