Pillow Talk

We lie facing each other. I pull our quilt up to my chin. He lets his body sink on top of it, threatening to slide off the side. His mouth starts to move and my heavy lids strain to stay on his face.

"I'll be better tomorrow- but it's always tomorrow.. I need to be better though. I hate this. I try to fill this void with things, but nothing will fill it."

My eyes blink slowly, savoring the extra time they spend in total black, before opening and fixating back on his face. Inches from mine. His eyes- that look at me, but are looking at nothing really.

"I can't run away from myself. I'm the problem.. It's easy to forgive yourself..."

I see him through the blurry wetness that's formed at the bottom of my eyes. He's so sad.. I don't speak. I just absorb the animated rambling of the criticism, depression, and constant analyzation that is his mind.

"Today, I failed- No. Today I stumbled. Yeah.. I haven't done anything, no one is waiting on me.. I didn't fail anything.. But I need to do something..."

He's right. He needs to do something- Finish something.The weight of his potential and his fear of failure take residence on his shoulder and bring him to his knees every time.

Regularly, I look at him and I see the most capable, bravest person I have met. But in these moments- through eyelids that betray me- I see him as he is. The most capable, bravest person I have met- that is scared shitless.