When I lay in bed at night, I feel like I'm running a marathon

Constantly trying to catch my breath, time and time again

For awhile I thought trying to confront my nightmares head on would be the way to go

The theme in inspirational stories is always "face your fears"

However, you have bad nightmares like me, and you don't face them head on

You catch your breath with knuckles paler than the harsh beams of the moon

Face flush and warm from running never ending circles in your mind

Your back slumped, you get up and fix whatever tea you have hidden away

It's quiet if we could both ignore the pounding in our ears

The rhythmic chant of adrenaline making its presence known so late at night

I don't look you in the eye

I've never been good at looking people in the eye

Yet I'm also too good at looking people in the eye

I make teachers sweat and divert their eyes when I stare them down

Because if I'm not looking them in the eyes

Then the scolding of my elementary teachers, perhaps even middle school teachers,

Comes ringing back to me in one painful flashback

At this point I can't tell what I'm supposed to do anymore

Do I look someone in the eye at all times?

Or not at all?

Then again, my mind is constantly on the move

Maybe it doesn't have to be this grand ultimatum

Maybe I could look you in the eye

I can look at the red, raggedy sleeves of your only robe

I can follow it to your shoulders

To your neck

To your chin

To your mouth

To the individual lines of your soft pink bottom lip

That's enough for now

Maybe I can try again later

Right now, at this dining room table I feel too exposed

I can't hide from your tired but sharp eyes

And I can't hide from what you may or may not say

I like to hide because I'm good at it

All these years I've felt like an undercover spy on the other side

Making friends and acquaintances left and right

Only to be called onto another mission with a new disguise

Because I'm good at it

Although I'm tired of it and I wish I could retire

I need to stay on my guard because what if I'm needed elsewhere

I'm not used to settling down for too long

I'm lost, hopelessly lost

With the desperation of a desire to quit of my lifelong career, I lean across the table

I don't make eye contact

Only focusing on the familiar necklace chain around your neck

Occasionally your soft pink bottom lip

To whisper something I have never told another soul

Sunrises make me angry

From years of Pavlovian trickery that made me despise the rising of the sun

I don't say anymore, I don't lean back into my chair either

You lean forward with a groggy voice, hushed like mine

Small, worn smile and a warm, calming exhale

To murmur a simple and soft 'me too'

And on the stovetop, the kettle whistles