Recognising Calm

I often wonder
What it must be like
To live
Without the constant tension,
To move through each day
With an unhurried heart,
To breathe
Without first convincing myself
That it is safe.

I watch others
Laugh effortlessly,
Their smiles
Appearing as naturally
As the sunrise.

They seem to drift
Upon calm waters,
While I remain
A vessel
Held fast
Against an endless tide.

Within me,
Everything is wound
Too tightly.
Every thought
Finds another.
Every silence
Searches for a sound.

Every moment of stillness
Awakens
The expectation
That it cannot last.
I tell myself,
Again and again,
Remain calm.

The words
Have become
A quiet ritual,
Repeated so often
They have almost forgotten
Their meaning.

Sometimes,
Calm does arrive.
It enters softly,
Like morning mist
Rolling across a sleeping field,
Or the first warm ray of sunlight
Finding its way
Through heavy curtains.

For a little while,
The world
Feels lighter.
My shoulders loosen.
My breathing deepens.
The relentless turning
Of my thoughts
Finally begins
To slow.

In those fleeting moments,
I remember
The person
I long to become.

But calm
Is a timid visitor.
It never stays
Long enough
To feel at home.

Without warning,
It gathers its things
And quietly departs,
Leaving no explanation.

Then the familiar weight
Returns.

Invisible,
Yet impossible
To ignore.

It settles
Across my shoulders,
Wraps itself
Around my thoughts,
And tightens
Its patient grip.

Once more,
I become
A tightly coiled spring,
Held under a pressure
No one else can see,
Forever waiting
For something
I cannot name.

Perhaps one day
I will learn
That calm
Is not a destination
To be reached,
Nor a companion
That can be persuaded
To remain.

Perhaps
It is something
To be welcomed
Whenever it arrives,
However briefly,
And thanked
Before it leaves.

Until then,
I continue
To hope
For a quieter tomorrow,
And to believe
That somewhere beneath
The noise,
The worry,
The endless tightening,

There is still
A peaceful version
Of myself,
Patiently waiting
To be found.