si·lence (verb)
2. basically human torture
Why am I crying?
I should _not_ be crying.
Crying is for suckers. Crying is for losers who couldn 't keep the tears from leaking out.
So why is she doing this to me?
_Not_ child abuse, but not on the nice side.
Why is she here?
There she is, leaping off the bus. There she is, next to me.
This is _not_ what I had planned.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
Are you okay?
Why aren’t you screaming? Why aren’t you crumbling to your feet? Why aren’t you crying? Isn’t it in tradition to cry hysterically after your “boyfriend” dumps you?
She does not take silence as an answer.
“...Child abuse...who did this to you...illegal...wait, is strangling someone to death legal?”
And that’s when I realize.
She doesn’t know. doesn’t know it’s me, Dani. She doesn’t know how I lied to her and how I am a girl. She doesn’t anything but me, the freak she thrifted off the street. She isn’t thinking about Dani right now.
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I’m always thinking Dani. I’m always dreaming Dani.
Dani has blue eyes, and so do I.
Not just blue with thick tints of gray, but blue. Sky blue. Blue.
Mistakes happen, but not as big as I make.
I look at her.
The dress, the sign. The hair, the eyes. It makes sense to her.
“But,” she says. “No.”
She wants to punch me and hate me and hug me all at the same time.
She does not follow any of the options.
It’s easier to fight the pain. I’ve taken the pain and I’ve ignited. I’ve taken a noose around my mind loose enough to breathe fine and tie it.
“Please don’t,” I say.
But there she is, using words to explain nothing at all and silence to explain