You smile at me. I smile at you.
I don't ask about the yellow tube that slithers into your nose. Or about that lack of color in your pale skin. Or about the white hat that covers your head because nothing else will.
You don't ask about the way that even though I am sitting a few mere inches away from you, I seem miles away. Or about the forced smiles showing on my face. Or about the constant stress that I seem to be under.
Instead, we talk like we used to back in elementary- or even middle school. Back before my life fell apart and yours struggled to exist at all.
How did we get here?
