My night was spent freezing the fat on my body and listening to a boy, younger than I, speak about shooting his mother and sister. Twenty-five minutes, scrolling through pictures as I listen to a voice devoid of feeling thinking about how I do not feel. When I hear a gunshot, I flinch. When I hear your name, I flinch. And I repeat repeat repeat I love your name in my mouth, the taste of your tongue in my mouth, the smell of you when I push my lips scrunched up to my nose. The scents on my body have changed, and I flinch when I hear your name.