My seven year old cousin asked me if I liked anyone.
As naive and harmless as it seemed, it made my joints stiffen and slow down.
I needed some oil to bring them up to speed just like the mechanisms that lie north of my shoulders.
For him, I had no response.


My mother would ask me the platitudes of life, not really caring for an exchange with meaning.
This specific time, it was about my future.
For her, I had no response.


As I lie in the middle of the road, the cool asphalt kissing my back, my neck twitches.
My right cheek made acquaintances with three small pebbles but only to be twitched to the left;
my eyes were aligned with the stars as something warm pads the back of my head.
A blaring noise politely asks me to get out of the way.The headlights flood my eyelids with a womb glow. For them, my legs had no response.
For them, I had no response.