Do you suffocate?

When you split your fingers and open your palm, a little sunlight enters your hand and reflects on your side-face like it is peeping through the window of your bedroom at 8 am but this time, you don’t frown or pull your covers over your face. Instead, you throw a smile that reaches the corners of your eyes that are now brazen. You have been wearing this smile for years now, trying to camouflage all that you’ve been hiding under your skin. Does it feel any different under this winter sun? Or does it look like another felony about to overthrow the garb that you’re wearing?
 Do you suffocate? 

You did not notice that I notice what your draw on your dinner plate with your spoon spinning on its circumference and your eyes fixed at the oblique, trying to gauge something that’s been hidden for a very very long time. I think I’ve only known the skin and flesh that you’re made of because you set barriers so high like the Berlin wall blocking the corridors that lead to your heart. I’ve tried to ignore looking into your eyes that wanted to start conversations about the unknown, I’d figure it wouldn’t be palpable. But now I look at your face and I know the wind doesn’t blow beneath your wings anymore and I know, I was the one who snatched it away. 

But do you suffocate? 


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