Bipolar Thoughts

To My Wife:

One of us wakes up in the middle of the night trembling in fear and asks to be held like a child.

Grabbing hold of one of our large stuffed animals that are ever-present on the bed. Curling up like it is impossible to get warm. Breathing heavy, the verge of tears. Scooting towards the center of the bed, face towards the outside. Waiting for the warmth of a body behind us and an arm over us. Anticipating the affectionate breath that will soon pour over the back of the neck. Hoping that the fear will subside. Wishing that the shaking will cease. Demanding it won’t happen again.

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