Timing
- Toni Young
- Aug 1
- 1 min read
When my bedroom light was turned off,
I’d put my hands together and pray
not to be swallowed by the dark
while scanning corners for what
was no longer there.
After a few breaths,
my teddy bear would fade in–
black eyes apologetic, paws reaching.
The outlines of books would promise
they’d never left,
spines whispering good night.
My little fingers would reappear,
wiggling like glowworms
no longer clutching the sheets.
I remember this now
when I find myself in shadow:
to wait, to trust,
to know that even in darkness
there is room to see,
and become more of me.
