There are no pictures on the wall. We sit opposite each other in comfortable matching chairs. They say: there is no judgment here. There is a box of off brand tissues on the table just out of reach. The chairs are pushed right up against the wall. I don’t know why. He is gentle but interested. He looks tired, he looks like he wants to go home. He says I look ill. I am offended. He says I have a lot of dilemmas. You are between so many things he says. But I think it is simple really. Eliminate the gap.
L told me she is going to quit choir. She doesn't want to sing with the half-hearted and still-sleeping. She wants to hear her own voice streaming out of her skinny body like smoke. In games she always wins. She is still but vibrant, vibrating within a home-made framework. She would hold a lit match until it burned off her fingertips if it helped her prove her point.