Words sit on the tip of my tongue, desperate to escape, to bridge the gap between us. Remember when we had breakfast at the Mud Street Café? Then we went to the hotel, and you skimmed my bare arms with your fingertips. You even mentioned a ghost you saw as a child, and you owe me that story! We fucked on those crisp, white sheets, and you looked down at me like you would never leave. Instead, I say nothing.
