8am. Clumsily tip toe over the nails strewn out across your bedroom floor. I am not graceful. I trip, and you wake.
9am. You don’t want sugar in your coffee today. It will be a bad day. My stomach flips.
Noon. “I hate the way your mouth moves when you speak. I hate your shrilly voice.” I apologize for being.
3pm. You won’t meet my gaze. I catch myself staring.
6pm. “Are you hungry yet? Does it feel cold in here to you?”
8pm. I am uncomfortable.
12am. Your hands around my ribs. I’m sorry I woke you today. Goodnight.