you remember the day like it's counting sheep.
TALENT
you know what it's like to feel pain: it's what it's like to touch the end of a soldering iron with too much confidence, or to conduct the electric current of a creation coming alive. pain loves you gently, kisses your band-aids, and teaches you a lesson. it is a passing thing, and though it hits hard relief loves you harder. and because of it, you will always remember to wear gloves or to switch off your circuits before unplugging your works in progress. every scar will heal over its ugly burn and soon it'll be forgotten again.
but pain is never meant to stay its welcome. the clock keeps ticking and still you are nursing this open wound where something was stolen from you. the blood isn't supposed to be wet. the knife isn't supposed to be felt. his laughter should no longer be ringing in your ears.
PERSONALITY
but it is. and you fall asleep every night to it like white noise rumbling from below, a pain so natural you can't recall a time without it. every single moment of life before this tragedy is coated in blood, distorted, broken. its a film with a cut in its reel, shattering any perception of what hope was like without the corruption standing just in view. he will follow you your whole life finding you in ways you thought were free from him, and coat every home video or scrapbook in still-warm blood.
they will all soon leave you, but this man - this shadow, this monster under your bed - will keep you forever. he will haunt you, and you will take him to your grave.
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