Sometimes these things hit us without warning. The unnamed doubts which
wrack us in the night. We try to explain, quantify, rationalize, our words cumbersome, wrapped around knotted tongues. We follow instructions. Hope it is the right thing to do.

We are good people.

Our words are chosen carefully. We learn to negotiate, fight our battles, de-escalate whenever possible. This is the art of compromise. Necessary, rational. We keep the peace, think about our decisions. Hope it is the right thing to do.

We work hard, architect an outer shell, pearlize, become cathedrals, mollusks. Convince ourselves that this protects. Switch to herbal tea. Read about antioxidants, cling to the uneasy reconciliations which live somewhere between truth and atomized illusion.

We are good people.

Our fingers jut through chain link fences, watching evening commuter flights. Clutch fading idealism, grow up, listen to reason. We understand too many points of view. Discuss subtleties, decide to decide. Unknot our tongues.

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