Some people have this ability to use up all your worry. It’s a talent not named in the list of admirable gifts.

Closer to a curse, but we don’t talk about those things out loud.

“It’s worse that you agree.”

“No, it’s worse when you can’t disagree. That’s when you have to make nice with the wriggling truths you’d sought to squash— only to realize like post-rain worms on a sidewalk they nestled between your toes.”

“Silver tongue and pockets full of words no one needs. You should have shipped off to be a playwright.”

“Do you think if someone told you you were effervescent, you’d tell them to shut the fuck up?”