We sit opposite each other, under glare from the kitchen bulb. We stare at the senseless patterns in linoleum.
Words crawl from our lips, stiff, creaking in armor.
I have left the window open so that I can fly out when I can no longer stand this stuttering silence. Then, meet me at the trees that lean together like folded hands, that make a small steeple in the dark. There we can make our own colors, hues creeping through out cells in slow waves. Our words are choking me, twigs and leaves caught between rocks in that stream.