six minutes and eighteen seconds
so this is how it ends—
me walking through the hollow neighbourhood,
my bare feet searching for the right words among
the jagged stones
cutting into my soft skin
I trip over my tongue, playing double Dutch with my breath
Give me something, anything
We are reaching the final bars of the fourth movement
But the conductor lifts his hands
And you let the silence come crashing, crushing onto me
If only I could hear it