I will never hold your hand too tightly. I will never give
you a reason to run to „anywhere but here“, leaving behind tears instead of
footprints. Your daydreams will be symphonies and brighter things than your
mother has seen. I will not be your walls, but your doors. And I shall protect
you as best I can, but when I cannot hold off the monsters any longer, you will not bleed my blood, but your own.
Your boyfriends won*t ask you why you don*t smile at them
anymore. They won*t ask why you don*t cry when you find out they*ve lied, and
you don*t have to reply that you don*t have any cry left.
You won*t flinch at your own shadow or hide your secrets
under bracelets until they are raw and ooze and sleep, and you will not weep
until you have no more room for all of your self-hatred that you harbor.
And far in the future, when you are ten feet tall and
dancing through time on your toes, and all that is left of me is wrinkles and
bones, you will not see the house that was once ours and feel the overwhelming
urge to set it on fire. Your memories will be the smell of cider and lullabies,
not the screams that were lost in your pillow.
anonymous
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