Wireless
If there was a way to have the words suspended somewhere, you would’ve chosen to have the syllables fall apart in the air and then maybe, with the sound scrambled, they wouldn’t hurt as much.
You’re holding the phone but only because you’ve forgotten how your fingers feel. And reality drips out of your eyes, pushing the misconstrued memories out of you. Streaking down your cheeks, peeling the paint away from truth you had envisioned. His voice crawls through you, crudely erasing the colors from the image.
And then he fades into the silence and you’re dying because you need to. The skin you’re in is wrong and your memories aren’t yours because they weren’t real. And the first impulse is to grasp for air but inevitably, you die and you’re forced into a different pair of eyes that sees a different kind of truth.
He’s a different person. So are you.
Fictionalized Facts 