march 27 2019.

1:45 am.

the sound of him walking to my room.

the sound of him banging on my door.

the sound of tv characters talking about grooming.

the sight of healing scars.

the sight of staples.

the sight of victims being helped.

the taste of cookies'n'creme.

the feel of you in my hands.

smell is still safe, though--i stopped breathing long ago.

{copyright 2019 madame-santana.}