“You are near again, your puppy breath hot in my face. You’re cute at first, small and cuddly, little needle teeth nipping but not really painful. I know though that you will grow.
I don’t know who feeds you, I certainly don’t, but sometimes I see you getting bigger and growing more frisky, puppy-legs and chest filling out and that playful silly grin becomes more sinister.
That time you grew and grew until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, until I had to be taken to a safe place where they shone a torch in my face every hour on the hour through the night, to make sure you were not there sitting on my face suffocating me. In the daytime they kept me moving around from group sessions to craft sessions, to exercise sessions and meditation sessions, to trick you into staying away.
I know you as well as you know me. I tried to train you to heel! And sit! And lie down! Sometimes you obey and sometimes you don’t, and I swear you smirk at me then. Sometimes I know I have to give in and let you have your way for a day or two.
I love it most when you are sleeping, and I can watch you peacefully. A few moments of respite while the dreams flicker past the back of your eyelids, and your legs twitch as if you’re running. You’re probably dreaming of chasing me, closing the gap, almost upon me, ready to bring me down with a giant lomping leap.”
Above quote by Carol Riedt
(one of the incredible writers I had the privilege of meeting at the Stanford writing retreat in May)