And all night in my head, the metallic trundling of shutters rolling down at the end of the day, doors slamming, the rattle of Venetian blinds. The sounds of closing off, entrances being blocked, windows obscured.
Then silence as you slip beneath the surface of the sea, your lips still moving under the water, your eyes beseeching. And I reach out my hand but you are sinking, dropping away with a cloud of silver-sad fish spiralling around you, and I see your words are small bubbles still floating up, but I cannot hear their message.
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