Wednesday, April 13, 2011

then memories.

Laying on my bedroom floor felt like nothing.

Until my father opened the door and watched me in silence. I was unaware of his presence until I heard his voice.

“Honey, I think you’re depressed,” he whispered.

I strained my neck and eyes to look up at him as he towered over me. Statuesque.

No words came, so I allowed my neck muscles to release until I felt the plush carpet against my left cheek.

He turned around and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

I melted into the carpet for another three hours.

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