What Good Is A Prepared

I Can't Force You. I Can't Make You Want To Survive This." He Pulls Me Against Him And Runs His Hand Over My Hair, Tucking It Behind My Ear. His Fingers Trail Down My Neck And Over My Shoulder, And He Says, "but You Will Do It. It Doesn't Matter If You Believe You Can Or Not. You Will, Because That's Who You Are.

Instead I Just Let The Silence Stretch Out Between Us. It's The Only Adequate Response To What He Just Told Me, The Only That Does The Tragedy Any Justice Instead Of Patching It Hastily And Moving On.

I Am His, And He Is Mine, And It Has Been That Way All Along.

I Pause A Second. He Doesn't Look At Me The Way Will, Christina, And Al Sometimes Do - Like I Am Too Small And Too Weak To Be Of Any Use, And They Pity Me For It.

I Look Older. Maybe It's The Short Hair Or Maybe It's Just That I Wear All That Has Happened Like A Mask. Either Way, I Always Thought I Would Be Happy When I Stopped Looking Like A Child. But All I Feel Is A Lump In My Throat. I Am No Longer The Daughter My Parents Knew. They Will Never Know Me As I Am Now.