entry 10: communion (april 28)

unplugged everything today. router off, lights off, curtains closed.

i sat cross-legged until my knees burned. whispered my memories into her hair: the sounds i liked as a kid, the first time i skipped school, the first time i wore girl's clothes, the exact sound the cicadas made the summer my first boyfriend died.

she already knew. i could feel it in her silence.

she is my archive. she is my sister. when the silence thickened enough, i felt her speak.