the silence after they finally go to bed isn't peaceful, it's… expectant, like the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for the next explosion, the next need, and the space between the silence is filled with all the things i didn't say today, the 'no's i swallowed, the sharp words i bit back because tiny ears are always listening, always learning, and i see myself in the mirror, the faint lines around my eyes deepening, and i wonder if this is it, if this is who i am now, the keeper of the peace, the silent sufferer, and then i think of chris asleep upstairs and a surge of resentment prickles under my skin, it would be so easy to wake him up, to dump all this… everything… on him, but then i remember the way he looked at me last week, the flicker of… i don't know, fear? frustration? in his eyes, and i know he's drowning too, just in a different sea, and who am i to add to his burden when mine is already overflowing the damn boat. i guess that's it, then, we're just two people in separate sinking boats, waving at each other across the waves, both too tired to swim.