Tears stream down the face of the woman behind us. She repeats softly, “I don’t know why I’m crying! I’m just crying because you’re crying.”

The cries rise to a crescendo just as the casket is lowered into a pit. A chorus breaks out in lament against a stifling air heavy with the scent of grief.

I end the Viber call after my psychiatrist diagnoses me with anxiety disorder, before hopping inside the shower, where I let the water drain everything that’s left of me. CW: Sexual Abuse

Here she was, waiting for the guy she swiped right on, who responded in kind. Neither believed an app existed for the non-able-bodied starving for physical contact.

My first day came two weeks in. They had already shaken off their summer laze by the time I was being introduced, wearing hand-me-downs from someone else’s long time ago.

When I told her my secret, she promised not to tell anyone, so the surprise was fierce when we were all in the car a few days later and, out of the blue, she announced it.