There is this game we play where silence speak volumes and affection is shortened into letters.
In the spaces between, emotions are compressed, and cursory courtesies are code words that dissolve in vitreous
humor and swim towards the amygdala to conceive happiness. I feel the first kick of loss when the silence stops speaking
stretches into soul-less sentences
my heart begins to cramp in a violent termination of pregnancy. In this game, I’m
the sore loser, losing blood from
my delicate place, paling into paper white.