Someone close asks what I'll do if it doesn't happen.
Each time they ask a little of their worry creeps in.
They mean it as something practical.
A sensible future to prepare for.
Repeated often enough it starts sounding like foresight.
They are imagining one future.
I still believe in another.
I can hear their worry without borrowing their conclusion.
I can love them without carrying their fear.
Their worry can unsettle me.
It cannot decide where I place my trust.