We’ve come to the point where there’s nothing to say.

We open our mouths,

Ghosts fly out,

Leaving trails of dust on our tongues,

A feeling of choking on our tonsils.

We hem and haw,

Giggle about things long past,

Nothing new or consequential to say.

We tell stories, which taste like dried ice

And stick painfully to the roofs of our mouths

They just aren’t funny.

You had to be there.

We offer each other snacks

What we would’ve eaten on any other nothing Saturday,

Back in eighth grade

Gold fish, cookies, gummy bears

We forget that we are older now, hungrier, healthier

She wants an apple, some popcorn, a sandwich, but says nothing.

I don’t understand why she’s serving animal crackers,

But stay silent.

I bite my tongue.

We open our mouths

And awkward laughter

Fills the air.

It doesn’t float like laughter should,

Helium balloons.

No, now our balloons get filled

With pancake batter.

And splatter on the floor, heavy

And dense, coating the ground

With saccharine goo.

We wade through it together, disgusted

We’re up to our knees in it.

She opens her mouth

And it’s black inside, like a cave,

As she says

She’s missed me.

The words splash into the batter, seething there

Sinking slowly.

I bite my lip.

We say nothing, both look at the clock,

Which ticks, louder than our conversation,

Heavier than our laughs,

More tortuous than our dusty mouths.

Nothing to say.

So we sit, tense on couch cushions for no reason.

Splashing in the sea

Of discomfort and nothing.

Something, the only thing of consequence all day,

Floats to the surface.

Are we still friends?