Some days I feel it.

Through my hair. Around my waist.

Some days I hear it.

Roaring laughter.

Some days I see it.

Forced smiles and empty waves.

Some Days I smell it.

Fragrant, Nostalgic, Safe.

Some days I fear it.

Snarling, ready to smite.

Today I finally understand it.

As I frantically tried to piece it together.

It cut. It bled.

Why won’t it even matter to him if I am dead?

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