I unfurl the heat in my throat and it shoots down the center of me, simultaneously pooling in my core and coursing through me like it’s taken the place of my blood. This is the part I love, the part I rarely let myself feel before Naema made space for me this morning—when it plumes all the way back up. When I was little, I imagined it like a Victorian collar growing up my neck and folding open beneath my chin like flower petals. I didn’t know about silencing collars then, so the one that I imagined made me feel beautiful.
