The stories I tell myself.

This is a story I tell myself: I’ll do it tomorrow. (My cancer says, “Are you sure?”)

And this is a story I tell myself: It’s not too late. (One day it will be. One day you’ll have done everything you’ll ever do.)
And this is a story I tell myself: Next time. (There are people I’ve hugged for the last time, I just don’t know it yet.)
And this is a story I tell myself: I’m older than he’ll ever get to be.
And this is a story I tell myself: I’m older than she’ll ever get to be.
And this is a story I tell myself: I never do anything right.
And this is a story I tell myself: It’s all my fault.
And this is a story I tell myself: It’s already too late.
And this is a story I tell myself: I’m not worth it.

This is a story I tell strangers: I’m fine, how are you?

But this is also a story I tell myself: Tomorrow will be better, even if tomorrow is imaginary.
But this is also a story I tell myself: There’s no soul-deep peace like holding my cat, listening to it purr with my ear right up against its warm side, feeling it breathe.
But this is also a story I tell myself: There is no one my pets want to spend time with more than they want to spend time with me.
But this is also a story I tell myself: I’m so loved. I’m so lucky.
But this is also a story I tell myself: I can’t wait to hold my person again, as naturally as one hand folds into another.
But this is also a story I tell myself: There’s no peace like the feeling of my person falling asleep next to me, and the way they sleep with such vulnerable abandon.

This is a true story I tell myself: Today was good. Life is good.

This week’s FMF writing prompt is: STORY