The words are scattered everywhere. I look at them, twisting and turning them, coaxing them to do something. They are reluctant. I try to pull them together but nothing fits. I’m famished. Craving something real. Something that I can get entwined in with no escape. My heart races. That dry fear sits in the back of my throat with an ache. What if this is all there is? What if I’m done with this? The panic is undeniable. I’m not prepared to let this go.