Your every sentence that trails off makes me think twice.

When we talk like this, I feel like I’m on thin ice.

The string of syllables doesn’t know where to begin.

I tighten my skate laces and then thicken my skin.

Our conversations linger, leaving its imprints.

My shaky arms stick out to maintain my balance.

Years from now I hope that this won’t matter at all.

But now I’m on thin ice, and I’m going to fall.