numbit is two o' clock in the morning and i can't sleep. or i sleep too much. one of the two, and the pills make three. they stew and burn the back of my throat; the chemicals dissolve and form words.numb by estallidos
the medical literature didn't say anything about that. or the numbness in my arms and legs. the tingling has crept up my right leg for the past week, weaving itself between my toes and nipping at the back of my knee. maybe it's a side effect, or maybe it's diabetes. or a blood clot. maybe my foot will need to be amputated, and i will have to hobble down the aisle for our wedding.
he coughs beside me, still fast asleep, and i touch one of his eyebrows so softly that maybe i am imagining the wiry hair against my fingertip. will he still love me if i only have one foot? i could ask him. i should shake him into reality and tell him about the burn and the tingling and the wedding photos that i will likely ruin.
"i'm sorry," i say, just to hear the words aloud, but he doesn't wake up.
the one tha