This is the lack of shape. This is me, hanging up before the first ring finishes.
Not the whisper of it. Not the polite, folded-hands version. The full stop. The period that doesn't lead anywhere.
hdyaar
A voice, low and steady, from the edge of a conversation. You want a reason? Hdyaar.
But you're not asking for a reason. You're asking for the door I already locked. You're asking for the password to a house that burned down while you were checking your phone. hdyaar
I could give you a list. Tuesday. The crack in the sidewalk that looked like a spine. The way you said "fine" last August like you were zipping a body bag.
Hdyaar is not anger. Anger has shape. Teeth. A courtroom. This is the lack of shape
You want closure? That's a retail word. We don't sell that here.