Quiet dissatisfaction nestles around me 
like my favorite cable-knit sweater, 
and I tuck myself unthinkingly into its 
off-white familiarity. 
Were I smarter, or 
groundbreaking-er, or 
go-getting-er, or 
less likely to trade passion for the calm of discomfort, 
then maybe I would live a life 
that doesn’t glitter like a pebble sinking beneath 
the waves. But I’ve made my peace here—
or so I think—or don’t 
even think to think—and so 
I turn over and hug myself tighter, swaddled 
by the knowledge that 
this is the choice I have made.