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Dead Air

Silence.

Noises in the background, cars whizzing past the window, the rumbling of the dishwasher but silence all the same. No connection, little communication, “What’s on your mind?” she asks.

What’s on my mind? A hundred different, fleeting thoughts about things that have happened, other things that have yet to come to pass and countless other events that never, ever will.

What’s on my mind? The mystery of it. Clarity would be a gift. Or is it articulation? Both I suppose.

“Nothing”, I say. But I’m lying really and I sense she knows it too. And it hurts to know you’re hurting someone else, someone that’s so close. But no matter how peculiar it feels, saying nothing seems so comfortable or at least it does so at the time.

So we slowly drift further and further from each others grasp by putting on a mask and the cracks soon start to appear like extra wrinkles, horrible and ugly. Now getting harder and harder to hide.

“Nothing you say? I don’t believe you...”, further and further, drifting away. And then silence.

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