10:29 on a Sunday night. It’s 
the hard night, the
night before the possibility
that I will fail, disappoint, 
fall apart. I fear this night
without thinking about it. 
I have breathing exercises,
prescribed pills, and routines
to keep me calm. My heart
thumps faster than it should
and I know there’s no reason,
except the world isn’t a 
safe place and a person 
never knows. But except 
for that.

What are you
doing here?  Where were
you born and how old
was I?  

You are here and
you are big. I cannot 
conquer you. I can’t 
pray you away. I can’t
meditate enough or breathe 
enough or ignore you 
enough to un-create you. 
Quite frankly, you’re a 
problem. 

You are here
and you are small. You
have no facts, even when
I can’t argue.  You will
not kill me. I won’t give 
up. We’re going to have
to be roommates for a 
while until finally, I can 
maybe get my own 
place. Until then, what’s 
your name? I think we’re
in this together.