Last Line Tag
[08.04.2020.]
I bring his arm under the table, between our bodies, and force my way into his tight fist. My hand closes around his fingers forcing his palm to stay open. He lowers his head, violence slowly disappearing from his features. Melting like snow. His jaw is no longer that sharp, his neck tendons less visible. He takes in a deep breath... and returns the touch, almost tentatively.
I often forget he is younger than me and still a teen. A boy.
What is hurting you this much? What feeds your rage?









