Zipper.

A dark oak chair in the middle of a dimly lit room. Dingy pink wallpaper falls around me. My hazel eyes are wide, quivering. The silence flows through my open mind. It’s screaming at me. My fragile hands on my lap fidget with a broken zipper. It might seem insignificant to you. It means the world to me. My teeth bite into the tender flesh of my bottom lip. Salty tears run down my cheeks but I dare not make a sound. They’ll hear. The shadows crawl up the walls. The air in here is musty. It’s suffocating me. A car drives past the window and I freeze. Old fears wrap around my neck. The zipper makes small metallic sounds. Images run past my eyes. Everything’s a blur. Laughter fills my head. The tears become a river. Right now, I’m probably the last thing on your mind. I couldn’t forget you so easily. Your name lingers on my lips. It poured from my mouth earlier. That brings us to now. Alone. Trapped inside this skin. Cold. You’re miles away. For the first time in a long time I get up. Walk over to the phone. Dial your number. Erase it. Dial it again. Insanity.