Pull Up A Chair

A memory popped up in my mind yesterday. An image of the bedroom in my old house; grainy and barely interpretable.

That was so fucked up of you. I shiver and recoil at the thought, but it’s true. I deserve my nose rubbed in it.

Even though the slap stings and my face reddens with embarrassment, I stay with the feeling. And think; what if I pull up a chair and sit in this chaos.

Thoughts swirl, emotions twirl, and I’m a psychic waving a hand over a crystal. There’s pain here and loneliness there, and not much of a person. To judge such a darkened moment, what kind of person will that make you?

So I hug her, and hold her near, and tell her that I’m proud. She is me, and I am her and we are all together.



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