The Price: a poem

It's a lump in my throat,
a knot in my stomach,
a pounding in my brain,
and a tear that won't quite fall.

There is a something,
I write circles around it,
but it just can't be said.

Maybe it can be said,
but I'm scared of what it means.
Will everything change?

What is the payoff of holding on to this?
The illusion of control,
what a price for a fantasy.

Healing comes, but only if you let it.
Time does heal,
but only with acceptance.