I.
i opened the cabinet at the basement and my gasp was trapped in my throat

in front of me unfold universes in the form of mountains layer by layer in stacks of paper.

II.
undone were the buttons of my blouse and my gasp was trapped in my throat because she's here

and i needed to build another universe; another escape route; another layer of another mountain.

III.
spread were my legs at the study desk of the classroom and my gasp was trapped in my throat because she said i need to be quiet or else they'd hear

and i needed to focus myself to the time it will be over, at the clock ticking after-class minutes, i prayed for timeskips.

IV.
after dinner, open arms, my mother asked what i wanted for my birthday

and i needed the comforts of the words "safe" and "no more touching," of the promise of "no more after-class sessions" but i just told her i wanted another notebook for my stories.