Two parental figures turned away.
Smooth, frictionless.
Blank walls.
Immovable.
Immobile.
Quiet as death.
Neither speaking.
Neither listening.
Unavailable.
Unavoidable.
Until I walk away.
Out from underneath.
Out from in between.
Into silence.
Into a place where I can breathe.
Where I can speak.
Where I can hear my voice.
Like an echo.
Trailing behind me.
A wasted sound.
Of words no longer spoken.
August 8, 2015
