There is a shipwreck between your ribs and it took eighteen years for me to understand how to understand your kind of drowning.
There are people who cannot be held quietly. There are screams that are never externalized.
If I looked at the photo albums of your past twenty years, all I would find are decibel meter graphs of phone calls and the intensity of your silence as you sat smoking cigarettes in the garage.
There is a shipwreck between your ribs. You are a box with fragile written on it, and so many people have not handled you with care.
And for the first time, I understand that I will never know how to apologize for being
one of them.
