Quiet

The quiet is overwhelming at times, while he sleeps. You'd think I'd be used to it, since he sleeps so much, but I'm not. Even though he's sleeping, I still worry. I think about all the things that need to be done, or the things I can't do, and I worry.

And then I think about the fact that he might not wake up, and the quiet gets to be too quiet, and I wake him. And he's unhappy. So I try not to do that.

I can hear everything. My own heart pounding in my ears, always being closer to death than to life. I hear my breathing. It's heavier than it should be, but it always has been. I can hear birds and things outside, but I hide inside instead, where it's safe. I don't want to deal with the outside right now.

Things have been okay. They've been quiet. They've been too quiet. I'm wasting away, waiting for the crash.