tell me that change isn’t sad.
tell me that even when you leave for something better,
a part of you doesn’t ache.

because i could be pulled from the depths of hell,
embraced by angels wings and pillowy clouds,
and a part of me would still break,
a part of me would still wonder what hell felt like
without me in it.

i am the woman who
can’t handle any change.
i am the woman who
is afraid that every ‘it’s about to get better’
is a facade.

and if i had it my way,
i would still be a small atom
floating perpetually through
one galaxy
never to know change,
never to need it.