the quiet ones hurt more

Nothing happened today. That is the worst kind of day for me.

I fed the scorpions. I cleaned the glass. I watched them glow under the black light, all blue and still, like little ghosts that do not need me to be okay.

I checked my phone. I did not call anyone. I typed a text to my dad. I deleted it. I typed it again. I deleted it again. Same as always.

The flat is too quiet when I do not drive. The road is loud and the dark is big and I can hide behind the work. But here, with the bugs and the empty fridge, there is nothing to do but think.

I think I quit school so I could leave. I think I left her so I could not come back. I think I drive all night so I do not have to sit still with any of it.

I ate toast on the floor. No butter. I sat with my back to the door like a kid hiding.

I am fine. I am always fine. I just needed to put it somewhere that is not the road.