Here I am watching, in an eerie room beside one whose reality's twisted.
Better to be said neurotic rather than psychotic.
And so here I am, listening to the slightest of sounds.
For I should explain every tiny detail to rationalize my version of truth.
Here I am, saddening to the idea of any man can be so vulnerable yet so frightening at the same time.
Here he lays just a meter away, a dad, a man, a stranger. 
Depending on who I will be able to talk to.
Episodes. Attacks. Remissions.
Words I'm already too familiar on a clinical setting but never inside my home.
And so here I am, contemplating.
If this is why I'm destined, nay, pushed to be since then?
If so, give me the moral obligation to serve ethically.
For here I am, thinking, as deep as I can, if I can live by the idea of ease than save a man from his disease.