It’s like a mirror reflection of last year—refraction—choking on my own tears, a projected me shaking thescreen, shuddering, thoughts like a train station: oneinoneoutwe hit a quiet station once—you leave—I slip my handclose—and then the oncoming traffic of thoughtsswallows mewhole— hollow—curetted. scrapings in a tray.a click of suction, then a pull.you lift what’s left in…