my past is mine and mine alone, the memories that connect us are shared but are owned by perspective. What seemed to you as innocent times, were for me, horror films come true in the haymow. A seven year olds stockings, opaque and white, crumpled
thrown on the floor, as he bent over me, and his breath was in my hair.
1 comment:
That was a disturbing image you painted, but great all the same.
Post a Comment