Frederick Banting buttoned his coat and stepped out into the quiet.

The room is still, but not empty.

I am waiting now for Erwin Schrödinger —

for the questions that have stayed with me the longest,

the ones that don’t quiet down,

the ones that might finally soften the loudest opposing voices.

Something in me has reached a threshold.

Not an ending — but a place where the work can breathe,

alongside the quiet rhythm of an ordinary life.

There is one guest left.

The real Benny.

Faithful, quiet, present —

never knowing he has been with me all along.

After that, this small project will rest.