my job:
to turn sobs into sentences.
I am:
20 pounds down.
Does this matter?
I do not sleep. My eyes cross. I dizzy up the girl and spin down the stairs, falling is imminent.
It may be imminent. I am on the edge, the very fine and furious edge and I can see my shadow in its deepness. All but for him holding my hand, tenuous connection though it may be. I love him for that. More than I love myself. Save me.
I am a dry sob, these are my dry words, this is my shell of a life, this is me.
