If I were mute, it wouldn’t be so bad. If I had throat cancer, if my jaw was wired shut, if my tongue had been ripped out, then I could bear the silence.
Sometimes I think about taking a crowbar to my jaw and snapping it right off. Or taking a hammer to my teeth, sending splinters of enamel flying.
I can’t meet her gaze. I can’t even talk about it with my friends.
There are so many things I want to say. Yes, please. Stop that. Come and walk with me. I love you.
It’s got to end. Soon.
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