Guilt

The torrent of guilt coursed its way through the final minutes before sleep. As he waited to feel tired he often dreamt up conversations that he might have, with friends, familiar faces, stranger. Often his scenarios bored him and he'd switch out partners mid sentence -- speed dating for the introvert. And when the conversations were finished, the failed raconteurs muted and gone, he would feel shame for the way he didn't let them finish, for shutting them up in exchange for another creation with nothing to say. In sleep he'd find the solutions to his scripts, and by morning the guilt was ready to picked out of the corners of his eyes and flicked aside. He had to make room for the next day's deluge.