Some days these weeks seem like years. I play them slow.
Yesterday my steady gaze was one game I played. Those tempered words, the adjectives I've thrown around when you aren't around are revealing. I respond to your voice in front of me but I don't make noise.
I used to be alive. When years ago words flowed in my veins like fire. I remember that warmth.
Only now...I feel like I've been exhaling for years. I've tried gasping but it does no good. I've been submerged for decades, inside for a lifetime. Slam fists against my ribs. It will barely leave a bruise. That's what happens when your blood starts to cool.
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