I think of split lives. Chemicals. Powder-clouds. Girls flowering like explosives. I am angry with myself for not leaving, for always staying still. Please note this doesn’t mean I am safer at night. What happens to a girl at 16 can make her wary of trusting herself. First her tongue learns to stop dragging sound. Next she is touching her spine to her palms. Praying. Here I am as the girl. Here I am as the ocean curled within a conch shell. I am listening for sighs. Everything smoking, no signal. Sorry, I have remembered how stomachs shy from light. According to this, I am absent. In the distance, the clouds suck the sun out from their cheeks. The horizon yawns. I’ve been too still. I’ve been reconsidering each sigh from my belly. I am keeping their shells. I am holding them to my ears and loving as I am