I sit motionless
until the world stops feeling louder
than my own breathing
I loosen my hands
from the steering wheel
I remind myself
that fear is not prophecy
That the nervous system
can turn uncertainty
into catastrophe
if given enough silence
Outside
someone returns a shopping cart
Someone adjusts sunglasses
beneath a blue sky
Someone continues living
without realizing
another human being nearby
is quietly trying
to come back to themselves
I watch ordinary life carefully
when this happens
The woman loading groceries
The wind moving through trees
The automatic doors opening and closing
Small evidence
that reality remains intact
Sometimes I lower the windows
just to feel air move
Sometimes I put my hand against my chest
as if calming an injured animal
Sometimes I say my own name
softly inside my head
to remind myself
I am still here
And eventually
the world returns gradually
Not all at once
First the parking lot
Then the sunlight
Then my body
Then the understanding
that I am not losing my mind
Only carrying too much of it
at the same time
Sometimes the tears arrive so quietly
I notice only the taste
Salt gathering at the corner of my mouth
like the body attempting
to return itself to the sea
The instinct to disappear
To heal unseen
I think I am like cats in that way
I hide to cure myself
Inside parked vehicles
Empty driveways
Silent kitchens after midnight
Anywhere the world cannot watch me
trying to gather myself back together
Sometimes I taste my own tears
and think how strange it is
that grief is made of salt too
as though the body already understands
that survival occasionally requires
licking your own wounds
in solitude
Until eventually
the breathing slows
The thoughts loosen
The ordinary world resumes its shape
And I return quietly to it
carrying myself carefully
like something once injured
still learning
that not every silence
means danger
Mari Sánchez Cayuso 
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