Here I sit sadly looking down the twisting stairwell; I can see where I have been, which steps are broken and in between I also see new ones, ones that I have repaired and are my work to be proud of.
As far down as I can see “He” stands; he is holding me in his arms and the beautiful lady, my mother, is there. It is the only non-traumatic memory of us. I am looking into a tank of water and there are lobsters; I want to take one and remove the black band around it´s helpless claws. I don´t know why the bands are on their claws but I understand that I don’t like it.
On the next step is a hole, a hole in my heart and my mother´s; I will never know if “He” felt hurt or desperate. There is a door with a chain lock…
View original post 304 more words