Just stop

I came home from work on a Wednesday.  Early. Especially to meet up with Willem. Only an hour to spare before Mara picked me up for a run.
He made me porridge. Big pot on the stove.
"What is porridge?" I ask. Oh. Just oats.
"You need carbohydrates for the run," he says.
I try to be calm around him. "Everything is fine here," I say with my body, with my voice.
Even when it isn't fine.
I've been exhausted. Burnt. Spent.
Willem takes me by the shoulders, looks at me earnestly.
"I'm afraid you're going to die," he says.
I laugh. It isn't a good laugh. Comes out breathy and insincere.
"Afraid I'm going to die? What do you mean?"
Willem is tall and he is thin. Almost unnaturally From a distance, in a hooded sweatshirt, with his long gangly limbs and loping stride, he can pass as a teenager loitering. Up closer, his cheekbones jut out and his hazel eyes rimmed in grey betray his age. He is 37. One year younger than I.
"You're going too fast," he says. He reaches for words, "I know that circumstances at work have been bad; I know you have Lynn and me here. I know you're strong. You can last longer than most people. But you need to stop. Just stop."
So I did. Took a few days. Away from everything - even him.

Lynn and I have been traveling. Seeing as much of life as we can. Yesterday we went to a flea market and a museum on the Resistance movement during the war. I'm breathing again.