said I don’t want to be here anymore… I’m just waiting for a sign to stay?
That one didn’t go back into the bag and vanish.
That one followed me home.
I didn’t sleep.
At 2:41 a.m., my bedroom ceiling looked like a blank white index card. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw the jagged handwriting. I heard the zipper—sharp, final—like I’d sealed something alive continue reading …
