No asks if we’re ok until it’s too late. Until after the coroner has come and lifted away the stories, the money, the secrets.
No one asks if we sleep with a light on or the TV or laptop on because we’re haunted by even better-lit devils and ghosts and banshees howling, separating us from god.
No one asks if we’re too tired to meet our lovers with equal arms if we ever do get time alone with them.
No one asks if we’re ok.