c

middle of the night with my mom asleep in my room again. her breath and the electric sigh of the fridge taunt me. nobody reads this, but they could. gave my writing to the man who sits across from me today, and now I can read it over and imagine him reading it. unfortunately, this is still the way I love; alone and rewinding.

There is no letter that lies facing the c, facing inward. s is hiding something. b has a wall up.