I thought as I approached the door, what if I open it, and he’s in there, in pieces. What if while I was away, someone came in here and suspended him dead in an upright position with red thread. Everything next to what it should be connected to. I can’t think about whether or not his eyes would be open. There is something horrific about reflections on dead things. Please never make someone I love glassy eyed.
I hear music, and open the door, I hope I am not interrupting, but I need to know. He is fine.
There is something about having anxiety I don’t think I will ever be totally rid of.