I wanted to ask you how your weekend was but instead we ended up exchanging whispers about chemicals and so you left me sitting there as I breathed outwards, solitary and disappointed. I look away as you assess the number of times I blink because I can’t look at you and I rest my cheek against the table and pretend not to focus on your hand movements, the tapping, and your bad handwriting, stay or go, I hide my hands from you, sleepyhead. In the morning I sit on the curve of the bathtub and clean my teeth and maybe I’ll spin round to my thoughts and run my fingers through my new haircut and flinch at my reflection, lop-sided and I bend backwards, faltering.
Stop me.