I have this recurring dream that you come to me and you are crying, as if everything in the world has pressed down on you and around you like a squeezing hand so hard that you are leaking tears. You look at me with big, shining eyes and your wet face is salty like you have just been thrown out of the ocean. I ask you what is the matter, naturally, and you can do nothing but choke your voice down and shake your head, little fountains spilling out in to the air as your face moves.

I sigh and stroke your hair. What can I do? Your shoulders shake up and down in bursts and spurts, and I struggle to hold myself back from pressing you to the ground to stop your shivers.

I can see a little of myself in the bathroom mirror.