Tears, fresh tears. Hot, thick and gushing, persistent and pushing at the corners of each swollen lid. Sight has become secondary in the last few days. My eyes adopting instead the role of expulsion. In the white silence my ears continually broadcast the sound of sirens, looping back and forth; a whirring reminder of the night my limbs took flight. Still racing, my whole body drags me with it, forgotten in the rushing current behind my eyes.
I sleep appearing formless in a dream. I was there.
On waking my shoulders fold forward in moth winged symmetry. Fragile and fluttering a heartbeat dances, encased in a rigid flesh. Sweat pours forth ignoring the November chill. At once I crave isolation and company. I wonder where she is. Mon amie en pleurs.