Do you know where I’d go to find solace?

I had a certain spot in the upstairs bathroom (our bathroom)

I’d curl up where the dark oak of the cabinet met the chipped white paint of the bedroom door

Underneath my body- still covered in baby fat- was the fluffy navy rug Memaw bought us

I think I always cried more than you did

I’d cover my ears and sing to myself.

Every few minutes I’d slowly take my hands away from my face like a frightened snail poking its head out of its shell to see if it’s safe

If it wasn’t, I’d snap my hands up to my ears again before I’d hear voices long enough to understand them

I was so scared of listening because I didn’t want to create memories for my mind to play over and over. (Truthfully, it worked. I don’t remember much of what was said.)

After it was through, when I’d finally see you walk (crawl?) up the stairs, I’d usually just be pissed at you for letting this happen again (It wasn’t your fault)

Well, that’s if I was even allowed to see you.

I know it affects you still. And I’m so sorry.

I think about it, too.


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