my memory isn’t the greatest, and i’ve lived in 5 different houses in the past 2 years out of mostly fear and “last resort.”
things are mostly black from being shoved into the corners and red from blaming it all on my carelessness and blue from him demanding he fix me with knuckles.
i don’t remember much of anything, but i could hear the trains call from each of those 5 houses and they called and called and called until i stopped believing in building up lives around comfort instead of satisfaction.