The sounds that circle my head are cluttered. Somehow still always frightening, the way they flash and scream like thunder, storm like winter, surge like warfare fighting to be heard above each other, the voices that circle relentlessly, cold and lingering. Trumpet full-blast, bassline vibrating, floorboards shaking, ears popping amongst this scream of fears, engines whirring, earthquakes and volcanoes and eruptions ever-deafening- except here. Except now. With you, the volume’s turned down.