Dear Xanax,

I love you. I hate you. But little pink pill, I thank you.

Thank you for giving me momentary escapes from the frustration of racing thoughts: telling me to run stand still, do everything do nothing, that it all matters and that none of it matters at all. You don’t necessarily tell me different. You just, make the thoughts slow.

Unlike everything else you don’t ask why so stressed, why on edge? You just stay close in the shadow, of that back zipper pocket of my purse.

My new companion, and you’re content that I hope it’s for just a short time. In your kindness you remind me, that in life, “that’s okay sometimes.I’ll be here, even if only awhile.”