The best I can do is pray
when I find a public flickr account full of long lost memories-- posted by the person who abused my father and I
when I see that woman's descent into alt-right Christian Nationalism
when I see how hollow the smiles are, and how the pictures stop after things got really bad
when I see the date stamps-- apparently I was 8 and 9 during her abuse
one of the photos is of my first crush at the roller rink with me for my 8th birthday. I loved him for years-- 3 or 4-- which given that we were five when we met is impressive. I liked his soft blond hair, cheesy smile, and that he showed me he liked me. During the year or so while I was abused I did worse in school. No one did anything to attempt help that I know of. It's not like I had bruises or anything, so maybe I did just have anger issues like she said. After she left I was still broken and I slapped that sweet boy during recess one day. That's what I thought lovers did when they had a disagreement. It was cold and his nose bled. After that I asked my dad to take me out of that school. I never saw him again. When we were seventeen he reached out with a picture his mom had taken of us when we were 5 or 6, but I hated to be reminded of my childhood and I lashed out. I was envious of his seemingly happy childhood. Nowadays it looks like he's really into cars and motorcycles. I wonder if his favorite song is still "Staying Alive" by The Bee Gees.











