I often wonder what these words would feel like now, rolling around in my gut, but I’m pretty sure I keep this bottle open so I’ll never have to find out.

The words rise from the walls of my lungs in a rush of warm breath. I can feel them, every syllable, every tiny edge they have etched into this heart. They brush up against my teeth, and my tongue feels awkward in my mouth. I don’t want to stutter, but these sounds have no patience, … Continue reading I often wonder what these words would feel like now, rolling around in my gut, but I’m pretty sure I keep this bottle open so I’ll never have to find out.