Goodnight

I chew on my fingernails and rub my temples. Laying flat on my back, and contemplating the passing of time. How it can be anything, and nothing at all. How it never stops.

About my being here. And how I could be anywhere. About Chris, and about comfort. 

About callings.

I think about Steve in his bed in the other house. The television blaring, his blanket damp. The boys' music jarring and repetitive. 

I think about all of the babies at Mother Theresa's home. Crying. Lonely. Putting themselves to sleep. 

And I have to remember,

My time is a gift. Not a burden