Not numb

I look at the keyboard keys and I bleed. I yearn to bleed. Water pours from my eyes, tears for a pain that is not mine, but one that is not foreign. I pause, I think. I think about not thinking, but I think. Snatches of the past. Pulao. A school teacher. Happiness in small things. Spring rolls for thirty bucks a plate. Her laughter. Will she ever laugh again? The tears are blurring me, I cannot type. They blur my head, my thoughts. I fight to get it all out before they can overtake me and my head. Before they can invade every living second of my life. But I have nothing to say. And she has nothing she hasn’t heard.

And just like that, death, my old acquaintance, is back again. May it never become my friend.

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