But you're not asking for a reason. You're asking for the door I already locked. You're asking for the password to a house that burned down while you were checking your phone.
A voice, low and steady, from the edge of a conversation. You want a reason? Hdyaar. hdyaar
So here's your answer, unwrapped: No. And beneath that no, a smaller no. And beneath that, silence wearing a leather jacket. But you're not asking for a reason
hdyaar
I could give you a list. Tuesday. The crack in the sidewalk that looked like a spine. The way you said "fine" last August like you were zipping a body bag. A voice, low and steady, from the edge of a conversation
You want closure? That's a retail word. We don't sell that here.
This is the lack of shape. This is me, hanging up before the first ring finishes.