AMARIS
I do not sleep.
I lie in my bed at eleven at night with the curtains open, because closing them felt like too much commitment to the idea of rest, and I stare at the ceiling and hold the same argument I have been holding since I walked out of that bathroom this afternoon and closed the door on the two lines like they might follow me.
Nia was in the kitchen when I came out. She made me toast I did not eat and tea I did not drink and she asked me nothing, and I stood at the counter holding the warm mug for its warmth and gave her nothing back, because there was nothing to say yet. She took the untouched toast away at some point without comment. That woman deserves a monument. I will commission one when I am no longer having a nervous breakdown on a schedule.
The argument goes like this.
Tell them.
