Spent the afternoon watching a spider build its web in the corner of my room. Such meticulous, patient work for such a violent end. It makes me think about the last person I had here, how they so carefully unraveled my bandages with their teeth, their hot breath on my skin a stark contrast to the air. The anticipation of not knowing if they intended to kiss the wounds or bite them. They chose to bite, of course. The sharp pain was a relief—a sensation honest in its intent, unlike most things in my life. I came down their throat while they were still marking my hip with their fingers, and for a moment, the noise in my head stopped. It’s a shame they left. The silence is back, and the spider is still waiting.