content warning, CSA

who are you? that's not for me to know I could never remember your face, your voice or your touch nor the words you'd use when happy, sad or quietly ambivalent

it's not for me to know your favourite colour your special song or your chosen film if you prefer beer wine, or whiskey with just one ice cube enough to cool the liquid but not dilute the taste

when I was younger I would dream of you searching for my likeness in every man I met I would dream you were famous an actor, a poet, a creative someone to rescue me from her and from myself

but I am older now and though I don't remember your face or your voice I do recall your touch creeping where it should not and that nauseating feeling I've held in my stomach for as long as I have lived

since I stopped searching I've come to realise while chasing your ghost I became one myself a poltergeist, trapped betwixt fear of living and fear of dying all because I remember your touch