sjsprWriting

"It's not your fault ." I hear myself say as I finally re-call what I can't remember. As I explain what I don't know and try to verbalize the fear in blacking out a memory. The phone pressed between my face and the pillow, and I can't tell if it's the wind on the other end or my tears finally beginning to flood the earpiece beneath, but I can't hear a thing. And the feeling of release I had long anticipated lies smothered between the pillow and me. "It's fine", "it's ok", "I know you didn't mean to". The words slink out of my gritted teeth as I crush the sheets in my fists and hold in all the things I meant to scream out. So like me: talking constantly when I don't need, wasting away the words that at this very moment I can't speak. Keeping quiet when I have the chance to shriek. Keeping still when I long to kick, and punch, and slap, and run, and r u n, and r  u  n.