Disclaimer haiku:
Don't own, so don't sue;
I can't even break out of
An old paper bag.

Note: I've never written in second person before. Kinda different.

You burn the candle at both ends because you need to. It's a good distraction from the less desirable aspects of your life, of which there are many, and which have been multiplying. Keep busy; don't think. Or rather, keep busy by thinking.

You've got a lot to think about.

You read through his file, look at his photograph, and wonder.

You're not surprised he lied to you. "Don't make me lie to you," he said once. But it seems he's willing after all. Not surprising. Lies are the least of sins in a prison and, really, a kind of truth to themselves.

And you're not surprised that when you asked about the lie, called him on it, his eyes went flat and hidden and his body stilled, like a deer in headlights.

You catch the analogy and run it back, feeling it out. No, not a deer; not prey. Whatever else he might be, it's not a victim - severed toes and the occasional blooding aside. That sudden stillness was predatory: a wolf freezing when it thinks the prey's spotted it.

So does that make you the prey? You suppose it does. The thought tugs the corner of your mouth into something approaching a smile. It would be a smile except you almost were prey, although not to anything as civilized as a wolf.

You were saved instead - saved and lied to. Puzzling over the lie is infinitely more appealing than dwelling on its antecedent.

You cope by distraction. By detachment and analysis, and he's not the only one who can pull away in an eyeblink. You've had a lifetime's practice retreating in the face of unwanted scrutiny; hiding from questions and statements where a true response would only injure. The one gift your father gave freely, if unknowingly.

Your father... There's another thing to not think about. It dismays you, slightly, that the same old thing can still find flesh to wound.

You look over the file, stare at the photograph, think, I'm missing something.

What it is, you don't know, only that there are bits and parts of this that aren't coming together into a logical whole. Something more is going on here. You think you need just one piece, just the right piece, and everything will snap into focus.

Okay, you think, challenging yourself, challenging him, "Be the change you want to see in the world." Go find the missing piece.

You knew you were going to do it before you opened the file in the first place. It was a good distraction, though. It still will be in the morning.

The file is put away, the lights turned out. You go home to sleep, finally, and plan your next move.

You wonder.

Is yours the only candle burning?