I am constantly preparing myself for the breath sharply taken in.
I'm bracing myself for the the break and the blink and the crack.
The sounds of a breaking heart, of disappointment falling on ears that refuse to hear it.
I have come to expect what I dread, each time, each time.
I am wearier than I care to acknowledge.
What if, this time, I get a brush from grace?
What if "better than perfection", better than dreamed of, becomes my unlikely reality?
Is giving that notion a space in my mind to live even worth it?
A little ray of light has no place among these ready battlements.
And as hope pushes its way in, I think, I don't think I can ever be ready for this to come true.
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