rose petals and soccer balls

play

and then she looked up.

wait. no. me. i looked up.

is that me? yes, it is. brown hair. messy. blotchy.

"hey!" someone says cheerfully.

her voice is robotic as she replies, "hi."

who said that? oh my god - it was me, wasn't it? i don't sound like myself. robots. carbon copies. monotone, monotone, monotone.

"you okay?" the someone asks. "you don't look good."

stumble. freeze. reboot.

emulate the sounds, the vowels, the laughter, the feelings, the reality. "no, i'm fine."

give them more. give them the excuse. pause button. rewind. play. "just tired."

it worked. the words settle in under their skin; visible. a head nod. "i get that. so..."

they say something else but it's warbled. messy. try to decipher but can't fully understand. bits and pieces; odds and ends.

"sorry, what was that?"

heart pounding. listen closely, now. don't ask them to repeat themself more than once.

fuck. still can't hear. still underwater. still drowning. opt for a nod and a smile, polite, squeaky clean, correct.

they leave. breathe. she - no, i - look at the sky. it's too bright. too bright. not real. paint.

a hard swallow; a blink. vision is blurry. if i could, i would cry. i would cry until it hurt not to.

but it doesn't hurt. can't hurt. and i can't cry.