LII. Wispy

"Don’t go. “

I tell the little Martian as he wraps up his biscuit cake wrapper and drains his last sip of coffee.

“ha? “

"Don’t go yet, stay a little while longer. “

I don’t want to be alone right now, don’t want to be quiet when the sun sets at 430 today.

The little Martian seems to read my mind.

“sure. I was just going to go drink another cup of coffee in my bed. Can do it here as well. “

he giggles, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

We are both a little gnarled with terror today he opens his mouth to ask me how I am again and I shake my head

“let's not talk about it. not for a while.”

He nods, understanding me perfectly.

The wind is picking up outside and the trees sway and sway like little wisps in the wind.

The library is warm and veers on suffocating, dew forms against the bay windows and the frost outside creeps slowly, trying to edge its way into the warmth of bookshelves and empty coffee cups.

My hands fidget, constantly, so I put them to work.

I make them type and type and type and I let my mind whir with words, synonyms and eloquent turns of phrase

My syntax garbles itself and my punctuation stumbles upon its own sprint.

But I keep writing, I keep the little Martian by my side, and I plan my next cup of coffee. i am too scared to stop planning, to stop writing, to stop moving.

The little Martian looks over at me, worried and a little scared.

“it’s okay. “

I am afraid he will judge m foe for my hyperactivity and tell me that is not healthy to try and keep so distracted to numb the terror of what could unfold.

“Instead, he whips out his knitting needles and some bright yellow yarn and begins to crochet a bandana with little sunflowers on it

His hands move freakishly fast and within minutes he has produced an entire scarf

His hands are as fidgety as mine, his brain as curdled and his heart as scared.

I smile at him, he understands me, I understand him.

We go back to hyper-creation.

We go back to our distractions.