AN EMPTY PACK OF CIGARETTES BY THE BED

locked carelessly together in a stranger's bed. with our clothes on the floor i remember crying not quite silently to the room. into the blankets. into the pillow soaking up your drunken head. my arm going dead underneath you. my words like shards of glass in my throat. every slur was an attempt to swallow them, shrink them back down. i pushed you awake with forceful trembles. i couldn't be alone anymore with these drunk and sobbing tangles i kept finding myself in. i'm almost screaming out at you now. surely audibly. it was someone's birthday. stole their bed on their birthday and successfully failed each other for the last time. i couldn't even pry your eyes open. none of my words sunk in at all. that is the most alone i ever felt. you in your blissful stupor, my body sweating into yours. holding on to a person who i couldn't reach, in a body that wasn't familiar, but would never again be as familiar as in that moment. retrospectively, that was the most honest and familiar encounter we had.