Fragile.

A window was our stage, and the texts our voices.

She was the host, the third party. I was me, as I usually am. We were the actors and, most of all, the audience.
It was a play, an interview, about fear and love. At first it was.

The lines became blurry, and the play turned into a horrid radio show. One-way communication, but only maybe.

Laying on the floor, trying to remain conscious, trying to understand the curses that came out of my mouth, I thought "please stop, she shouldn't see this". It's already complicated as it is.

But that was on my side of the world. I could only imagine her in hers: crying, terrified, listening to my loud attempts to catch my breath. And typing, impotent. What else could she do?

...

Today I'm numb, scared, and, most of all, ashamed.