these battle-scarred dreams never last, he says while listening to his classicals and 
reading war and peace for the 4th time. she sits in the corner, rocking herself to keep 
warm, isolating herself from everyone and everything. she lifts up the leg of her faded 
denim jeans to feel the scar interrupting the milky paleness of her calve. feels the music 
fading in and out of her earwaves, trying to find some meaning in all the noise in her head.
 
he feels her pain, feels her exposure. sets the book down, glances over. long sip from his 
drink. don't sweat it, baby, he says carelessly. it'll heal.