Key

Silence was the architecture. Thick walls, no windows, just the echo of my own voice bleeding through the stone.

The crack in my skull lets them breathe, the voices, the dark. I called it peace. I called it home. I meant it.

Then you called.

Your voice dismantles what I built, not as destruction, as exorcism. The jail I raised from years of hollow collapses at a single word.

Who gave you the key? How dare you. Thank you.

You can have days off from loving me. Just not from me.