The front of my head is a dam for tears and the stress is intense. When I move my skull I can feel the pressure shift and slosh and threaten to spill. I struggle desperately to quell the flow, thinking of the runoff and overflow. All those wet inhabitants dealing with the collateral. Why should they suffer because I wasn’t able? So I shore myself up, constantly building bricks out of vice and mortar in pestilent habits between so the cracks stay unseen and the rocky foundations seem stable when viewed from afar. I keep it together for them.