Kiara Amartya Mohamad
It comes and goes in pulses.
At first, I felt a gaping hole, then an ache from below the skin of my chest. The hole moved to my fingertips, perforating them.
I have a lot of yearning.
It comes from my stomach and travels up to my throat, where it becomes heavier from clots of it building up. There is nowhere for it to go,
Not from my legs, or from my belly button, or even my throat.
I first felt that hum three years ago.
My body, hollow like the vessel that it is, dampened and dimmed.
A seed had sprouted from within, and not long after, that very hum had transformed into a sort of ringing.
I’d like to think that my native tongue is the wind.
Some days are completely shrouded by it.