tinayan

You tell him about your cancer on a Sunday, in the shower of all places, in between brunch plans and speculations about whether or not the weather will ever get any colder - hasn't it been the strangest November? Just the strangest. You casually mention that somewhere deep in the secret space between your hips your own cells are proliferating uncontrollably, whispering treason and passing down forgeries, teaching each other the steps of mitosis with alarming intent. You don't miss a beat as you drop survival percentages mixed in with tomorrow's rain forecast and predictions about the game later that afternoon - easy as breathing, even as co