Dear Adriene,
Every virtue signaled. Every lawn-boy. Every lady holding a platter with outstretched arms. Every nightfall, every windbreak, every morning tumbling wet. Every petal dropped, every dropped signal, every time anyone even thought to ask. I think: sunshine as punishment, lavender as love language, how some of our insides hold dead things and we don’t even know it. Shine a little light into those dark crevices of the body. A grain silo can be a metaphor for any feeling—one misstep and you are simply engulfed. Did you know suffocation rarely occurs from the weight of it? It is the grain itself that kills you, filling your every inch of throat.