I’m uncomfortable, this season of silence. The stomach acid I carry and hold deep inside wants release, but that would be violent. Emesis is a terrible thing. It is also no thing to let go slow, or the damage creeps up the esophagus, burns holes, damage to self. Hold it down, keep it in, swallow hard and hope that pressure relieves on its own. That is my life. If I told you every little thing that was wrong, I would damage myself. If I told you no thing, I would damage you. Sorry for the distance. Every day is every heart attack is every struggle, but I still walk, against all odds.
I miss you, my readers, my lovers. I miss you, my robots, my crawlers. But silence mutes me now. The important stuff goes on paper, and this is not my paper. I hope you understand.