32*

2

“Sometimes at therapy… it’s almost like I can see the hope draining from Dr Jacksons eyes. We’re both trying… so fucking hard. We’ve been trying for a year and a half now… every week… and we have nothing. I feel so… defeated. I’m so tired. We’re… trying all these new techniques with like… meditation and trying to access repressed memories but I don’t think it’s working. She even wants to watch me sleep now. We’re getting desperate and it’s killing me.”

I pulled him in closer, latching my hand at the back of his neck and making sure his forehead crashed against mine, looking deep into his eyes, residue filling them, just like the way that raindrops land on petals in thick splashes, beautiful but too heavy for their new home.

Coming soon…
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