The ache settles into the tender spot
just outside of my eye socket,
not overwhelmingly painful
but it's enough to make me unsteady,
unsure if my stomach and brain
are conspiring against me
to cut short my plans for a nice dinner.
You look concerned for something
you cannot fix, like a broken pump
or a faulty string of coding,
but you only ask one time
if there's anything you can do.
I shake my head, mostly silent,
but I'll find the words to explain
as soon as my world stops roiling
in the choppy sea after a storm
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