her skin is translucent like stale and pale milk
and her hair looks unwashed which is weird because
she is very particular about her hair
or she was.
she keeps her tray down next to me
and neither of us says a word,
it isn't the kind of silence that is comfortable and alright
but the one that is screaming in my
stormy and unsettled mind,
telling me to say something,
or at least try to.
words don't form in my mouth
and she quietly eats her sandwich.

ps- an earthquake struck my city while I was writing this.