You ask me what I'm thinking,
every time my answer is you.

I'm thinking of the way my heart swells when I talk to you.
I'm thinking of how comforting the sound of your voice is.
I'm thinking of the ways I could make you laugh.
I'm thinking of all the different ways your face will light up when you look at me.
I'm thinking of how I can't wait to hold your hand.
I'm thinking of how I'll look into your eyes and know this is right.

I'm thinking of how soft your skin will feel after a shower.
I'm thinking of how our bodies will feel pressed up against one another.
I'm thinking of the ways I want to trace the outline of your body with my fingers.
I'm thinking of how your skin will taste after a dip in the ocean.
I'm thinking of how your lips will taste and if they'll taste just as heavenly every time.
I'm thinking of how kissing you will never get old.
I'm thinking of how our bodies will dance under the night sky.

I'm thinking of how happy you will make me.
I'm thinking of how happy you already make me feel.
I'm thinking of a future with you.
I'm thinking of how easy it is to fall for you.
I'm thinking of how we were destined to meet.
I'm thinking of how the stars are aligned perfectly for us to enjoy life.
I'm thinking of how lucky I am to have a future with you in it.

There is someone in my house.

It's late at night and I can hear the sound of vegetables being chopped in the kitchen.
I am supposed to be home alone;
all of my family is out of town.

Why do I hear someone in my house?

Hiding in my room,
I wait.
Could this be just another hallucination?
Could this really be happening?

There is someone in my house,
and I know it now,
because the chopping stops.
I hear footsteps.
I pull the covers over my head,
as if being completely covered in my comforter
will make me invisible to the stranger creeping in my house.

There is a child at my bedroom door.
She is very small and very young.
She barely is taller than my arm rest on my desk chair.
She is staring at me with the one eye not being covered by her hair.
Her hair is long and midnight black,
the street lights pouring in from outside are visible in her hair,
creating a silver glow to her dark complexion.
Her head is cocked to one side,
hair falling in her face.
I start to move and realize I'm paralyzed.
I try to speak but I cannot move my mouth either.

There is a man in my doorway.
He appears suddenly,
like the wind on a chilly day.
He's tall and has broad shoulders.
It's obvious he never skips out on the gym.
He has a pale complexion,
his skin glows in the amber street lights.
He moves swiftly,
taking two long strides to reach my bed.
In my head I'm screaming,
in all reality the only sound that could be heard,
is the sound of the plastic the man is tying around me.
Plastic wraps around my
throat,
mouth,
arms,
legs,
and I still cannot move.
I cannot breathe.
Plastic wraps perfectly around my throat,
keeping me from being able to breathe easily.
I cannot even open my mouth to gasp for air,
I am completely restrained and paralyzed with fear.

There is a man in my bedroom,
and he picks me up with ease and tosses me into my hallway
before checking the other rooms.
The voice in my head echoes,
You're dreaming,
Wake up Drew.
He is not real.
That child is not real.
You're suffocating.
Your arms are burning.
You're not breathing.
You must wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up!
Wake up now, Drew!
With all the energy I had,
I catapult out of my bed.
Breathing heavily,
I rub my arms,
happy to feel they are no longer burning.
I think to myself,
thank God this was all just a nightmare.
I look up and see

There is a man standing in my doorway;
I'm no longer dreaming.

Your apology meant nothing to me.
Your apology was not meant for me,
Your apology was meant for you.

Your apology was pathetic.
You only did it to save your mind from eating itself in the middle of the night.
Constantly chomping at the thought of our last conversation.
The one where you called me selfish because my feelings were hurt.
The one where you said we would never work because our trauma doesn't match.
The one where you said I couldn't possibly fathom being in the same house as my ******.
The one where you told me our relationship was a pool and you couldn't understand how I was able to dive in.
The one where you told me you never wanted a relationship.
The one where you threw me away like a rotten banana peel.

Like a banana,
I opened myself up to you.
Peeling my layers one by one.
I started to get bruises from all the nasty words you said to me,
you said to my friends, and
you said to my family.
But I was still good.
I was still a sweet, ripe banana.
You always knew how to make me feel ashamed for being a bruised banana.

You were right,
we will never work.
Your reasons were wrong.
We will never work because I was never what you wanted.
We will never work because you could not open yourself up to me.
There were things you kept from me that I never would have kept from you.
Our trauma doesn't match because I'm working through mine and you're still on the first step,
afraid of what the next step has in store for you.
I have learned how to handle my trauma while you still let it eat away at you.
You let your trauma control your life.
I won't let my trauma control mine anymore.

Our relationship was like a pool,
I was ready to dive head first into the deep end
while you stare at me from the steps,
unaware of how to swim.
Our trauma was like a pool.
I jumped head first into the deep end,
tackling my trauma head on.
Ready to face my fears,
confront my ******,
my abuser, and
my family.
You stood on the steps,
getting your toes wet.
With multiple swim floaties
and a group of people encouraging you to jump in.
You were afraid of what you'll find at the bottom.
Even with floaties and people cheering you on,
nothing will ever be enough.

We will never work because I cannot be the counselor you seek.