"You're so thin. Skin and bones." He glanced down at the floor.
"And you're apparently fond of internal rhymes." Heehaw. I've always been awkward.
The invisible thing (or person or place?) on the floor sure held him captive. He remained silent, I remained as blank as a piece of dry white toast.
And finally an inhale that cut through the quiet like a butter knife.
"So!" I replied a little too quickly, a little too loudly.
"I think you need to see somebody."
I am fairly certain he meant a therapist, but I felt compelled to joke.
"See somebody? I see a lot of people. People need to start seeing me because--" Oh shit. Nothing clever is coming to mind. Come on, think think think-- do I go for shock value, sarcasm, or perhaps something high brow and punny?
I give up.
"Deeny, I'm serious."
Deeny, Deeny, quite so teeny, how does your appetite grow?
"Yeah, I know."
"I just think you need to treat yourself better."
Treat, trick or treat, costumes, what to wear, do I go for Sexy Skeleton or Zombie Karen Carpenter? Maybe I'll fake sick this year and skip the parties and slip on spooky flannel pajama pants and pass the time dining on sugar free mints and late night punchlines.
"...And you need to be mindful."
Somewhere out there, let's say on an island inhabited by turtles and ghosts, lies an active volcano full of everything everyone has ever tried to hide away under beds, feet, rugs, drugs, and holy behavior. And it's waiting and waiting and waiting and sometimes the earth just needs to bleed.