Sunday July 9, 2017
overheard on 14th Ave
We haven’t talked since Maeve’s funeral. A bit strange, since we live together. We have been weaving in and out of the hallways to avoid our skin brushing. It helps that there are mirrors. You don’t know I’m watching but I know when to move. I don’t miss your voice and that’s also a bit strange. I thought I would but it turns out I’ve never known silence. Neither have you. My quiet is different than yours. Mine is settled. Yours sounds like bees, dying. Maybe if you didn’t kiss my sister while everyone else was burying my step mother. Maybe then yours would have sounded lighter.