“When do you stop?” he asked with fingers threaded through mine. I knew what he meant. He meant jumbled notepads, cluttered desktops and sticky note post-its with more tasks that I could fit around my laptop screen. He meant tomorrow’s ‘to do’ and yesterdays unfinished.
“Can’t you pause?” he asked. “Let it all go for a bit?”
“Sometimes.” I answer, avoiding speaking of night-time sleeplessness, too hyped from caffeine and brain hopping ideas, too frantic to concentrate and too many to ignore.
“Sometimes there are moments of calm.”
I don’t say that there are moments when I look at him and all I think of is that moment, even though I know it is clichéd and I should be beyond using such ideas. I don’t tell him that there is one uncertainty that dwarfs and mutes every aspect of chaos in my life.