Tori Lemon
Lantern Staff
The hands that belonged to the man that came before you had the intention of hurting and using me on his mind. He intended to stain me with the blood on his hands that could only be seen at the darkest hours of the night, leaving iron-crusted residue of handprints around my neck. So please understand why I am so surprised that I do not cringe at the thought of you touching me. For when you reach to hold my hand, I am not shivering in fear. I am shaking in relief.
The lips that belonged to the man that came before you did not land on mine as an act of affection or love- rather than a forced act that I was supposed to politely go along with. His lips oftentimes appeared as a soft grimace of triumph upon his face when I got tired of fighting. So please understand why I second guess your authenticity from time to time. For when you speak to me in words that resemble fresh dew drops that appear on white rose petals in the dawn sunshine, I am not silent in return due to hesitation. I am silent due to amazement.
The scent that belonged to the man that came before you was a hellish concoction of too many shots of vodka and an appalling rage that seemed to only vanish when it was taken out on me. Don’t forget to add in the smell of the combination of sweat- one from a vicious body doing whatever it feels is okay, and the nervous, sickly droplets of sweat on a body that laid there lifeless– soulless, even. So please understand why I seek refuge of being wrapped in your arms and your t-shirt. For when the night terrors wake me up in a panic, the scent of that wretched man and that wretched night are instantly replaced- I smell only you. I think one day your scent might be enough to fog up that memory of mine to where it will not hurt as much to think about.
You have planted and watered seeds in concrete, waiting patiently for them to bloom. You mend and aid without even realizing you are doing so. You are home and an escape all in one.
