I threw up a scream and the sobs came out like someone was kicking a deflating air mattress. The house was silent, you sat in your room reading the newspaper; its gray and black pages flicked through the minutes. I put my ear to the notebook I carried with me everywhere, as if I'd hear my words whispering back to me instead of the dry silence. My thoughts probed me like needles but I couldn't feel them anymore. I was a cloudless sky. Maybe my sanity was waning. Maybe it had visited the shores of my life for a year and then retreated like a wave. Maybe I was stuck, sinking in the wet sand, wondering when it'd be back again. I jumped when you passed my door, steadied my shaking hands as you slid half your body over the threshold. You said you'd say a prayer for me before you went to sleep.