Speak by Reem Sabra

Posted on April 27, 2013 by


You ask me to talk to you. To voice my thoughts. But we’re close to reaching our word limit, and between you and I and those five feet of empty space between us, everything is at risk of taking a wrong turn.


At five feet, with heavy foot steps, I drag not only my legs but the weight of the ground beneath me, it feels.


At four feet, the sound of you clearing your throat once, twice, as if your vocal chords are a musical instrument you’re trying to tone, is the only thing interrupting the silence.


At three feet you try again. ”I’m sorry.” We both can hear it, the holes in your apology.


At two feet I try to say Something, but my thoughts do not reach my voice. My words are cut and edited and snipped and snapped on their way out until they are reduced to nothing but a sigh.


At one foot you say Something, but I’ve gulped down such huge breaths of air that there are no particles left to carry the vibrations of your sound waves. I do not hear you. I cannot hear you.


At five inches, we stand close enough to inhale each other’s fears. But, love, at this point, we’ve run out of words, I’m afraid.

Posted in: Speak