Parking Lot Prayers

It's like being in a room where all the windows are closed and the air is heavy, and only a few words break through - in a slightly broken voice, a little incoherent. The warmth here is not about comfort, but about that very ‘heat’ when the heart burns with the unsaid. It seems to be a conversation about truth and pain, but it sounds like a dance on the edge of sleep and quarrel: sometimes tender, sometimes almost hysterical, sometimes attractive again. The music goes round and round, as if it can't decide to leave, and each repetition is like another wave of heat that doesn't cool down, but only burns stronger.