Take Out

He spoke in only vowels. No consonants. No words. Only sounds and gestures to their effect.

Deliberately handling the pages edgewise. Soliciting those paper cuts. To be wounded without the burden of having to bleed. To feel his pain in small, manageable doses. No need for bandages. Just small pricks now and then. Nothing big enough to show what's under that skin.

I used to be that polar. But now it's always temperate. Nothing matters. And I can't remember why it ever did.

I plunge the chopsticks deep into that cardboard origami container, but come up with nothing. But it's not like forks ever served me any better.

Quietly we ate our food and then it was over.