Thirteen Steps

He maintains control, no question. He’s tall and collected and bulletproof. His heart lies peacefully inside that box because he put it there. It peers out when he says it can and the mere weight of his hand keeps that box grounded and secure. Going about his business each day and keeping that animal calm requires very little effort. The combination to the lock on that box is the answer to a calculation involving the respective weights of risk, desire, and required effort. His optimism stems from his ability to manage it without incident.

But he’s given it too much room and it is now outside of the box. Alive and reckless, it tortures him. He straddles it and does his best to get hold of its sharp, flailing limbs. What was once calm is now thrashing and bucking and refuses to go back inside.

And I’m it. I thought that I was the guy, but I’m not. I’m the other thing.