Habit; 25
It is suffocating not to speak, but I hold my tongue. Self control.
I inhale exhale inhale exhale, smoking for lack of anything better to do and because the little puffs of toxic air mean I'm still breathing. The room is quiet and still, weighed down by hatred and love and sex and more emotions than I'll ever be able to name.
Confused as I may be, I ask no questions. I keep my silence because it's my solemn duty to do so. I know he doesn't care one way or the other, but I don't want to inconvenience him.
