I want to tell you how I can't stand her silences, the clicking and the crunching that is building up and bleeding into my space, that has spilled onto the floor between us like a knocked over glass. I want to tell you that it feels like I'm dying here. Partitions and closed doors never did much to keep the monsters out. And I've put time on a treadmill and I'm just waiting for it to run out. I want to tell you everything but our magnets have fallen off and there's nothing left to pull us together. But don't be sad, so it goes: it happens to the best of us. The glue washes off and the leftover residue is scrapped away. My face is inked with guiltiness, with lies I didn't tell. It's fiction, I tell them because it didn't happen to me and it isn't my life I'm laying on the floor.