when someone asks about my childhood, I don't know how to respond. I barely remember something...I started crying and my instant response was; get under the table, it's safe there. But why? Why is it safe? ,,I don't know, it always was." and that's just one of the blurs. I feel so sorry for the little girl that had to go trough this. Whenever I take a look at some photographs of my self, specifically when I was small, tears burst into my eyes. Every time. But I barely remember what happened, so why I feel such a sadness?
all of the memories are like a dream
once it happens
you will forget it
YOU ARE READING
Potion of reality♡
Poetry!WARNINGS! -explicit content -language (cursing) -mention of murder -heavy ptsd -daddy issues (the trauma, not the kink you mf) over all really drastic, this book is full of pieces of my soul after all.
