Twelve years. Twelve o'clock. Twelve tries to get it all wrong.

I watched Caleb sleep today. I watched him watch the fire until his eyes grew heavy and his chin touched his chest and then he lifted his head and his eyes opened again but only for a minute before repeating his shutdown. He's exhausted. Trying to stay alive in a world like this, trying to outrun his own heart so it doesn't trample him flat, trying to catch my heart so he can add it to his Bridget-collection where for now only my soul and my past wait. Trying to be a big player in a small field. Trying to be the hero when the world is all villains all the time. Trying to win back the trust he took from that little girl in the woods, who tried to lock him out of the camper but wasn't strong enough for him. Wasn't any match for him. And now sits and watches him. Wondering if she really needs him after all. Wondering if she should kill him in his sleep. Wondering if he'd be better off far away from this and wondering if he has room under his arm for her so maybe she can just curl up and sleep for a minute too.