It could just be acid-reflux. I could just have a gastric ulcer.

But this burning sensation makes me wonder what I’m so nervous about. What possible life-shattering thing am I failing to anticipate that my gut already foresees instinctively?

May. The name of this month alludes to possibility. I realize that May actually comes from the Roman Goddess Maia, the Goddess of Spring. And that it’s just linguistic accident that, when Anglicized, it’s exactly the same as the word that expresses possibility, opportunity, permission, contingency, wishes, and prayers.

May. Might. Coulda. Shoulda.

Why should anything change? This is what I tell myself for reassurance. Years have gone by, and it’s been the same thing, day in, day out. Seasons come and go, bringing sunlight, wind, fire, and rain, each in their turn. Why should anything change?

And I already know the answer. Everything changes because that’s just the way of the universe, whether I like it or not.

So I’m waiting for change. Why I’ve equated change with badness, I don’t know.

But it doesn’t matter what I want. The universe will unfold as it should.