Small Talk

There's a heaviness that comes over leaking in from somewhere, a certain mood that paralyzes the throat. It causes you to withdraw and pull back from where you can look out and not feel what happens, as if the nerves connecting you to life are like those to a tooth numbed by novacaine. When it wears off you find yourself looking for a way back, feeling around the dark for an exit out of your own skin, riding on the back of a word or two as they escape your mouth headed for the nearest conversation where you can hide in the small talk and nobody will ever know you're there.