whirlpooled topics unbackspaced. streams of consciousness. blurts. scribbled notes. outlined ideas. velocity waves. snatches from icloud. because self-editing is a writer’s cowardly way of preventing a reader from fucking the writer's confidence. dates don't matter. memories and moments aren't chronologically marked on the soul.
For the first time since 2017, I’m home alone. I didn’t realize how lonely I’d be. How quiet it is. Even at their ends, when they slept all the time, I listened for their breaths. Their stirrings. There is no sound as loud as death. The echo of emptied.