The draft was half-finished, sentences like cliffs. I keep waiting for us to grow up at the same time. I don’t feel safe being the punchline anymore. I love you, but love isn’t supposed to feel like homework you forgot to do.
He stared until the words blurred. He typed back into the draft like it was a door he could knock on. I hear you. I’m here. Tell me where.
Nothing. Seconds stretched, elastic and mean. The river went on not caring in both directions at once.
