Eerie silence in the bomb shelter. The emptiness of missing shadows in the evening. Plastic and silicone toys strewn on a scratched glass table. Sleep drunk for days at a time. Rooms without echoes make everything meaningless. Years of softwired self-loathing as a broken safeguard. Procrastination consumes everything. And so, reading mildly moldy stories from my childhood. Searching for and talking to and dealing with dragons. And late in the silent evenings, I've discovered my bones are soft.

11:30 a.m. - 2020-02-19