On the tip of my tongue, lips already parted, sucking in a slow, deep breath filling my lungs with wasted despair. It's there, biding time until it snaps. (I snap). Like the reflex motion, recoiling as if burnt, the unwelcome visit to a place guarded by lock and key. To which the password remains L-O-V-E. And ragged breath and shaking limb are just prelude to the scream.