invoice

the therapist asks questions only she can get away with. I surprise myself with answers I've never shared. her probing conjures shameful revelations out of words I fill with feeling. she nods into her notes. I cry at unexpected tears. we talk about the monuments we build for days we hate. there is a cause for every hurt and a brain that deals with both. she says the way I care about the world is lovely but I need to take a break. 'it will all be as it was when you return'. I laugh at the idea. turn your back from what you know to sleep a little longer. just forget about the massacres you're funding for a week or two. 'you'll have more energy that way'. we rest to keep going and nothing changes. she tells me to go gently. I pay the invoice in my inbox with the money on my phone.