Don’t Ask Me If I Remember

Don’t ask me if I remember

there’s no way I could forget.

When triggered, what I could never forget always seems to flash before my eyes in an instance, as if I’m seeing my life again right before death. It looks like a slideshow with all of my happiest moments with him. Every smile, every wink, every hug, every kiss, how your body felt sleeping next to mine, the first time he told me he loved me.

A different slideshow begins playing then, when all the happy has gone away. The one with the beatings and scowls and yelling. The foul terms and prolonged agony, the bruises and torn feelings all ripped to shreds by your pointed teeth.

And I didn’t know any better.

I would never know any better, and now I never will. I had made a habit of falling into the wrong person’s hands and allowing their manipulative minds to penetrate mine only to find that the reason for all the pain was right in front of me all along. And I let them in.

For the next one that comes, I don’t hate you. I just hate what they did to me.

You devoured me in more ways than one, you monster.

So don’t you dare ask me if I remember.

There’s no way I could ever forget.