I dry my hair with the towel that is so soft, so thick and so comforting. I wince as the towel touches my shoulders, my arms and my hands. The part of my skin that remembers how the towel feels and how you left those impressions on it.
"It’s okay," he whispered into my ears. "Daddy loves you," he said.
I rest on the towel, I feel the towel dampened with the water that rinsed away my pain, the sorrow. The stains had faded from the water but the blood was still fresh on my skin.
My days just go by like birds flying through a busy town, not stopping anywhere to rest. I wish I could have something to look forward to when I come home, someone to share my day with and someone I could snuggle with before falling asleep.
I do enjoy my day. The little moment when my friends or colleagues make me laugh. The work that I do gets appreciated in one way or another makes me happy as well.
I’m quite satisfied with the pace that I’m going at right now. I’m working at an understaffed architecture practice which treats me to an immense amount of experience. I come home to my parents who love me unconditionally. My heart skips a beat everyday just being able to see… You.
There’s no reason for me to be unhappy. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse for you to ask me what’s wrong. Or maybe I just don’t know anymore.
I was in modern practice when everything broke loose. One of my friends read the school e-mail and texted me telling me to read it myself. I was not suppose to have my shit out during practice but I did anyways. As I logged onto my e-mail, my heart started pounding like a motherfucker, because I…