It’s inexplicable. How something so hidden can annihilate you. You can bury it, or try to—yet, no matter how much you’ve grieved your loss of innocence or sanity, when the realization comes barreling back it will obliterate you.

It will mangle the fabric draping your body.

It will splinter the bone keeping you standing.

It will paint you in flesh wounds until the scar tissue can make you whole again.

Or, it could be internal. It could rework the entire system; make your heart beat a little slower, your hands a little colder. That’s the worst kind.

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