I remember the sting of the belt, the sting of the knife, and how easy it was to forget about the pain once I woke up next to you. I remember how every fibre of my being wanted to kiss you awake. But then I recalled that you don’t sleep very much. And I turned away, closing my eyes. Letting you disappear, retreat into yourself, even as you lay next to me.
The sting of your silence is what I can’t un-feel. A wound destined to never heal.