Conditional

The line crackles, the call drops every five minutes and you mind your words, knowing unwanted guests listen in at every turn. He hears the weariness in your voice, and you've never found yourself wanting to be in a war-torn country at the other side of the world as much as you do now. How you long to raze and run, to weigh no more than a single suitcase and clear your own cloying narcissism against despairs a thousand times worse than your own. His voice is tired, he longs for home, but how addictive the satisfaction in his voice.

I crept into a bath so hot it burned my skin, scrubbed every inch of my body until it tingled, tried to reach that point where my insides aren't numb and ignorant. You know there's something else you're supposed to be doing, something better you are supposed to be, and it doesn't go away simply because summer ran around with you in insipid gratification. The leaves turn brown outside your window.

Let your insides burn, instead.