Most days, I let things happen. People come and go, transactions take place and tasks that need to be completed are done in a timely manner. There is an unseen control that takes hold of all that needs to happen in order to be a “good” member of society. Droning on and on, never-ending. Monotonous. Secure and warm. A numb and antiseptic kind of warmth, like rubbing alcohol smeared deftly across an open wound. The pain feels good and the temptation to keep rubbing sets in, but I stop myself and let the air cool the burning… a different kind of discomfort as things fall to a more stable state. Everything longs to be more stable. I believe in hope. Does hope believe in me?