Breathe [Collection of Short Stories/Spoken Word]

Despite

His punches were knuckle stamps printed with I love you, his slaps were one of the many traps that threatened her not to leave; to escape. He encouraged her to stay, and despite the eyes for being the window to your soul, he had never been face to face with an expression that looked like she would rather die. Pathetic curl-ups and a body that made up for rocking chairs, actions remain memories of reminders of what was to happen next. And she prays, that perhaps she would die today - just so she wouldn't suffer again, so she wouldn't have to think of a life she could have been in. If she hadn't fell for his charming looks and words that led to vulnerbality, maybe she would have seen knuckles and belts and  all the pain you've ever felt - appear. Creating mounds of fear that hopefully he won't open that door, digging you deeper into the floor despite curling up in the ground ever so "subtly". He had broken her voice when he made her realize that he was stronger. That made her scared, impaired with multiple triggers, sunglasses in cloudy days, scarves despite the way the sun had hit her skin the way he had hit her as well. This was a daily routine, a deniable truth that she was fine. Wanting to die, despite not wanting to. He was already doing that for her.