A good morning. A song. A nearly. Then silence for three days. I am not starving. I hate being fed in teaspoons by a coward.
Tag: silence
A bruise with no text after is just mess on skin. If you claim the body, you can claim the morning as well afterwards too.
Someone muted the house chat mid row. Now we communicate through cupboard doors and passive tea making. Modern flatshare conflict is just delivered on silent.
No name talk. No job talk. No story about the week. Just a dark room and a warm body that does not need a biography.
Unavailable is not mysterious. It is unpaid labour I do in my head. If he wanted to, that message would already be sitting right there.
Not always, but often enough to notice the pattern. Body against body and the day shuts up. It works until I get fully dressed again.
No eye contact. Fast feet. A whole argument finished before my stop. This city is rude and useful. It lets you disappear while staying public.
We looked tight in the picture. On the platform it went quiet. That is the comedown. The story goes on the grid. Silence comes home.