The thing I keep out. The unbearable agony that comes when I remember half of me is fucking missing. Gone without a trace. Likely fucking dead in a ditch somewhere, or floating face down in a shallow river at the bottom of a ravine. Or, worse, being tortured and abused and raped and who the fuck knows what else. Meanwhile, here I am, sitting in a cushy house with both of our parents, eating cold Chinese take-out when she could be starving, telling my parents I’m gay like it amounts to anything actually meaningful other than, oh wait— I’m the only kid they have left. So much for their
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