Stokkseyri

It takes a lot for her to fall asleep at night. When the stars come out she feels the heaviness come and settle within her, like rocks in her womb, and her ribs and breath rise with the moon. She loses herself in the flesh and sinews of each calm limb, and the greyscale seems to hold her close in an embrace.

If you were to be there in the silver translucence of that quiet room, the fan clicking slow and her arms, palm up on the blanket, you could see it. This endless heartbreak. How, without moving, she folds in on herself again and again, and how her glassy eyes speak a truth too large for the world to hold.