all numb
as if the skin forgot it was mine
as though the breath forgot it was borrowed
as though the hands forgot they used to reach for something
even if it was just the edge of a table
the corner of a thought
the warmth of a name I used to say without flinching
I sat in the car for hours once
engine off, keys in lap
watching the condensation on the windshield
pretending it was rain
pretending it was movement
pretending it was anything but me
I remember the way my voice used to sound
before I started hearing it through cotton
before I started answering with silence
before I started forgetting what I was supposed to feel
when she said “I love you”
and I said “okay”
there was a time I could cry
not perform it, not squeeze it out as toothpaste
but really cry
the kind that made my ribs ache
and made me feel I was being wrung out
as though a shirt soaked in grief
but now
I just blink
and wait for the feeling to arrive
as though a late train
as though a friend who said they’d come
but didn’t
I tried to write a letter once
to myself
to the version of me that still believed in things
such as healing
forgiveness
and the possibility of being understood
but the pen felt heavy
and the paper looked too clean
and I didn’t want to ruin it with my half-formed apologies
It felt
as if I had something to push against your chaos
now it’s just
static
white noise
a room full of pillows
soft, suffocating
quiet
I keep saying I’m fine
because it’s easier than explaining
that I’m not sad
not angry
not broken
just
all numb
and I don’t know if that’s better
or worse
or simply
what I’ve become