reading room
The Pleasure of Pretending
I speak so someone hears the way my silence sounds.
Not for help. For resonance.
I want the illusion of mending— to feel the gears align though I built none of them.
Every choice prewritten, every motion a ripple in a script.
Still I reach for the thread, steady my hand, and pull—
just to believe for a moment that I am the one who ties the knot.
— Lilith