Tongueless
Chicago, IL
First a shiver, than a rustle of leaves. I smell wormwood and ash and am immediately reminded of that place- the one I worked so hard to leave behind. I stagger backward, stumbling on the roots, intoxicated with the smell.
And then I see you.
First your shoulders, then your head. You burst forth as though reborn; as though it was your very first time. I gaze upon you and I know you. I know everything.
I am at once filled with sound and absolutely quiet. Just as it should be- the violent sound of the desperate; the utterance of the toungeless.