I should do something about that. I couldn’t protect my mother from all the drug dealers and addicts who were constantly in and out of my house. All I could do was hide under my bed with my pet spider, who never wanted to talk back to me. Every day and night, we would hide under my bed. He was my best friend. But he never ever spoke, so why would I? He was happy without using his voice. I could be happy as well. He was my comforter. My protector. If he could conceal his voice and be brave enough to hide under my bed and not cry, then I could too.
🥺🥺🥺🥺 my poor baby
