my throat feels clear these days, not that constant constriction, even when a stranger on the bus just looks at you, like they're trying to read a whole story off your skin. used to be I’d instinctively pull back, build a wall around whatever truth they might have glimpsed, but now it’s just… there, part of the landscape. just another chapter visible on the page, and I don’t have to pretend it wasn’t written, or that I didn’t survive it.