Dear Fay,
The memory of the cold knife in my hand pressed against the warm flesh of my inner wrist burns in my memory. But this time I'm putting it away. I'm standing next to my father putting it in another drawer and closing it. It escapes my case and I turn around with a sigh. But I still feel it burning my skin. I can't help but rub my wrist in the memory and I know you get me. Because we're in this together. Both of us me and you. You and I. Adrenalin is preparing me for the hell that I'll face tomorrow and I know that someone three hours ahead of me is thinking about my safety wanting me safe.
Love,
Rose
YOU ARE READING
Dear Fay
RastgeleWhen your internet best friend decides you've come too close what do you do after you part ways? One way would be talk about it. Another would be to become depressed or even suicidal. Rose's way is to write. And she writes, pretending to talk to Fay...
