because i love words

i can't even speak. because how can i use my words, things i love, to speak of hurt, and hurting?

and what would it sound like? like ... drama-mongering. like pity-fishing. and i won't have it.

so
now
i will be silent.


but not here.
because you are my arsenal. you are how i fight off those mean red days, and nightmare ghosts. you are a steady, firm hand when i shake and the blanket when i grow cold at memories or voices on phones. and i need you, and i know i've never said it, but it must be known