It’s getting late.

And yet, you’re staring at the ceiling, letting your thoughts wander to who-knows-where.

What is it you’re losing sleep on, anyways?

You don't know. It frankly bothers you that you don't know what's causing this.

 

Maybe you should wash your face. Clear up your mind, just a bit.

And so you did. You leave the faucet on for a little longer, listening as the water drips one by one in hopes of keeping you grounded.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in,

breathe out,

​

You're gripping onto the sink to steady yourself. You’re gasping for breath, you’re holding
yourself from breaking down right then and there but with everything blurring around you, your
knees start to give away and–

Stop–

Stop, stop, no,

not now,

he doesn’t need this—

​

You think you’re on the floor now, clutching onto something so you’re not fully collapsed.

Sobbing was all you could hear from yourself, for what feels like an eternity.

. . calm down.

You can barely hear me, my voice quieter than usual (or maybe you’re louder than usual, you
can’t tell), but I'm here, and–

​

In your frantic state, you muttered, “S-sorry.”

. . you don’t need to apologise, y’know.

You know that. And yet, a sense of guilt lingers in your heart.

How long have you been holding all of that back?

I asked.

“. . . a while.” You muttered, curling up and looking to the side.

No wonder.

Your patience staggers me sometimes.

Does it not get tiring to grovel at the feet of a company who clearly doesn’t care about

you? To work for so long, for so little in return?

. . .

You nodded.

Then . . . why continue? You don't even like this line of work that much.

“. . . it’s safer, this way.”

. . safer?

Safer?! How is this safer to you?!

“Hey- A-At least I'm used to this! If I change, wh-who knows i-if it'd be better or worse, or—”

It'll be fine! It'll be better, I promise!

“W-will it really?”

I,

I don't know.

​

God, I really don't know. But it has to be. It has to.

Would you rather be stuck at a dead end?

Are you that scared of change?

“. . . I-it would do, for now.”

You sigh.

You start to stand up, a little staggered still. You wash your hands, and then head straight to bed.

You have work tomorrow. Back to that repetitive cycle you know oh so well. You don't have time to dwell on this.

It's fine. It will be fine.

It's not fine, we both know that.