She feels like she's surfacing in an ocean of glue, arms weak and heavy, suspended in his wake. She's shaking on the inside, but on the outside she's still.

She sits, legs tucked to one side, hands limp in her lap. She watches him from eyes that are somehow both dull and glassy, like a gold-frosted La Llorona in a circle of death.





For a long time, she does not speak.


They watch each other, two half-spectres under roiling skies, as though infants borne along by this limbo in a world unfamiliar to them, without the wisdom to know what to do.

She seals her parted lips.

She slowly reaches out. Her fingers graze his cheek.





"Where else would I wanna be?"