I walk upon eggshells

Their points pierce the thin webbing between my toes with each slight movement, making it impossible for me to swim away, so I practice pretending all day that I’m a ballerina with toughened feet who can crush shells, nails, and hearts alike without leaving behind trails of blood for sharks to find.

When you whisper to me in bed at 3 am with the lights off and the window blocked

the telling is as much the story as the told because you run your fingers along the inner curve of my elbow and press your forehead against mine as you work your words into the air that is heavy with our breaths and the muted buzz of your roommates’ television two rooms over.   — […]