and when she wakes up she watches tv/ counting cracks in the ceiling
some days are filled with silences.
a cold war arm race happens on either side of her in crossword form. suspicious glances sneak across hunched shoulders and threads into the cracks of lockers above her head.
she's curled into a universe spinning alone, swirling sick feelings and heavy sadness through her bloodstreams in planetary orbitals. reach up and feel the gossamer-silk of cobwebs wrapped like fingers around her throat.
the windows are bringing in grey light and static. she might wish for an aeroplane to fly overhead, so she can daydream of feeling freedom rush through her wingfeathers again.
but there's a person-shaped absence torn into the fabric of this theatre-scene. her eyes compare it to the stark emptiness of an answer-less line in a fill-in-the-blank question sheet, trailing a big red accusatory zero.
absence might make the heart fonder, but loneliness can crack it to pieces.
the stripes on her sneakers are blurring into wavering lifeforms, so she's watching the ceiling and trying not to see the shadows. hush, don't speak a word or something may break.
some days are just filled with silences.