Your body decided to panic

Your body decided to panic

without consulting you first.

The nausea came up your throat

like something that had been waiting

for years to escape.

Your hands went cold.

You sat there fifteen minutes

on the closed toilet lid,

breathing through your mouth

because breathing through your nose

felt like drowning in reverse.

The stall door was covered in graffiti—

old numbers, declarations, someone's initials

carved so deep the letters would outlast you.

There was a phone number worn smooth

by the pad of someone's thumb,

called so many times or just

thought about so many times

the metal had been rubbed away

like a prayer.

You stared at it and felt sure

it was written for you,

that someone had predicted this exact moment—

you, alone, your body betraying you,

and a stranger's digits offering nothing

but the ghost of a connection.

The panic didn't pass.

It just got tired and sat down beside you.