Every word emerges as a whispered scream. So elusively conspicuous, so subtly clear. Messages that mean nothing on their own, only the space between them shedding the faintest of light –– constructing the most minuscule of windows –– into what you may be feeling, what your new life looks like, what the hell it is that you want. Uncharacteristic niceties and feigned enthusiasm, excessive exclamation marks and unnatural dispositions; you keep me at arm’s length. We talk in code now, acknowledging the loss of a closeness that once was without saying anything at all.

You closed the door quietly, almost hoping I wouldn’t hear the lock click. I wished you’d slammed it shut. I wished you’d closed it with such force that the whole house would shake, that it would crumble to the ground, taking foolish remnants of hope with it. How can one bear to abandon a house that still feels like home?



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