She covers herself in words. To avoid all of the uncured pain inside, let it all not be in vain.

I have licked coconut ice cream from your chin.

Wandered the streets of Berlin, your little finger in mine.

Searched the countryside for your favorite pin, near the inn where we became entwined limbs and sheepskin.

But all of these have no comparison, to where I have been when I am within.

I slid my fingers beneath the clasp and the fabric upon my shoulders crumbled in a heap by my feet. He looked upon my body as if I were a poison apple. His brow furrowed as he fought to keep his teeth locked behind his lips. Then a glimpse of white protruded as he bit down into flesh and a trickle of blood ran down his chin.

My hands dove to hide the parts of my body that told my story, “I told you, you could never love me…”

For a brief moment, our eyes found each other, but I saw the light fade and turn to black.

She looked in the mirror and ran her fingers against the threads covering her bones. The fabric hung against her shoulders, a curtain hiding her decaying frame. She smiled at the stranger looking back at her. But it was hollow and anyone who looked hard enough would see through her disguise. Her thin lips and glassy eyes barely holding back walls that were threatening to burst at any moment. But no one looked hard enough. No one asked. Because no one asked wanted to know. They pushed and pulled against the walls—she was useful, to be used until the levee broke and she was no more.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not out of duty or guilt. He had seen a glimpse below the meticulously painted on exterior, the one meant to disguise and distract and he had touched the cracks. A single finger pointing to her weakness, her burden—of being a human being who carried pain that she could not heal.

I slid my hand into the mailbox and pulled out a small stack of paper. I flipped through plain white envelope with a presorted stamp in the corner until I came across one addressed to Jim. New Stanton Bank. I had never heard of this bank, so I opened it to make sure it was junk before tossing it with the others. I slid my finger under the flap and dissected it until I could pull out it’s insides. Statement read in bold letters and as I scanned the page, my eyes caught on the balance. Over $500,000 was in an account in just my husbands name. I tried to make the surprise go away, but he had just said that we could not afford vacation. She had been more diligent in making sure she bought groceries when there was a sale, she painted her own nails and her roots were outgrown. Her underarms felt moist. Her head seemed to spin like a top upon her shoulders. She shuffled the paper into a stack and abruptly walked towards the house. This must be a mistake.