Fake a whisper and make me think you have said something horrible about me like they do on all the cartoons and sitcoms. You’re just blowing air through your teeth, regulating its flow so that it sounds like the rise and fall of syllables linked together, making love. I know you don’t mean it.
There is no sound with us. It’s all in our heads. Sound is something that I dream of and then it becomes real. Like the sound of my heartbreaking or your sobbing coming from the world next door. None of it is real. It’s all broken glass and howling dogs.
You don’t even have tear ducts.
Lost ‘em in the war.
What war?
The war of losing ourselves to circumstance.
Posted in chaos, her musings |
