The Reappearing Act
They’re tiny spells
Little glittering magic pills
A hidden superpower to chill
Press play and let the world uncoil
Slow motion thoughts melting
Like butter on warm steel
I reach into the pouch
Expecting the glow
The soft promise of everything’s fine
But my fingers scrape emptiness
Cold
Hollow
Exposed
Breathe slow…
A rollercoaster drops through my chest
Psychological gymnastics
Brain yelling, “No way that was the last one!”
Checking again, again, again…
As if a hidden gem might respawn like a bonus life
But the package stays hollow
No power pellets left
Just me
Raw mode
Remembering how to chill
Without the magic
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