Icebreaker

Now the moon has worn thin as the promises made at family weddings – to stay in touch, not leave it so long – and the air is as cold as the silences that spread like continents between those who promise and those they let down,

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there is a stillness, a not wanting to say: the kind that expands into conversation’s void, vacuuming the air we’d usually use to inflate the words that say ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I’m wrong’, ‘Why won’t you tell me what’s the matter?’

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Little can be done with a morning like this. We make our bed, pour coffee, pack the children off to school. We look into our phones rather than ourselves, see the mess others are making of their lives, and feel not a pixel better.