the pulse in my throat… like a hummingbird caught there… wrote the letter… to the kid… had to stop twice… ashamed of that, too… that even in imagined ink… i couldn’t just… let it all out… wanted to tell her it gets better and that’s a lie, some days it doesn’t, but… but you get… stronger… you get… to choose… which voice… you listen to… the ceramic mug… warm in my hands… and the words on the mirror, finally… believed.