Hollowed

Image

Everything I say is hollow,

marrow dry,

brittle bones break.

Let’s all shuffle our feet so we can hear some humanity.

Please?

I once heard the lines, “He’s stuck at 3:14 a.m. with only the moon to talk to.”*

 

I’m stuck.

 

If I knew how to talk I would,

but that’s a whole lot of unlearning—

we are ill-equipped communicators.

I’d swear I was born a mute

if the sound of my own voice didn’t frighten me.

Let’s start at the beginning:

 

“Hello.”

 

 

 

*Credit to Miranda July, discussing the process of writing her screenplay for The Future

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