“I’m fine.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

These become the lies with which we build the walls.

Your walls are quite solid, well-constructed. Even as I lay beside you, touching you, the walls keep me isolated. I cannot surmount them. Even as I feel your warm skin, I am left cold. Outside. You are here, but not.

I try desperately to see around or over the walls, to glimpse what once was. I try to scrape my way though until my fingers bleed but the walls stand firm.

There are so many things that I want to say to you but the walls only deflect and distort them. So we lay – together but miles apart – separated by the loneliest silence.



Written for the Daily Prompt: The Outsiders



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