Staying:Passage

I pressed my knees to the floor
and prayed to God you heard me scream.

I said good-bye to no one in particular the next day.
-
There is a silence so intoxicating in leaving. It's a hit or miss, every time.
People either miss you, pretend to miss you, or forget your existence.

And I've come to find the sooner they forget, the easier it gets to remember you're the only one watching your back, and holding your hand.

I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be remembered. The whole reason I came back to Winchester was so I could be held, loved and dreamt of. Not even five days after I made it to the "sacred land" I found myself face first, asphyxiated and blinded underneath a starless sky, silently screaming.

I never told anyone this.

My anxiety gradually grew worse no matter how low the population density was and I forgot what it was like to have sex for love and not just sex to fuck. And then I decided that to live a decent life I'd have to forget everything, even the rapist who held the cards to a new apartment, and bust my ass on $7.25 an hour, for less than 40 hours a week. This all to live?

That's not living. That's existing.