K.M. Moronova

Trauma is a haunting, twisted bitch.

The only pieces of this dream I can see are myself and my dog…

When I open this door, I cross the border I’ve set for myself where my grief must remain. It’s not allowed to follow me past the frame and into the real world. Because I’m still real, aren’t I?

Dogs have a way of doing that, you know—healing the mentally ill. She kept my sickness at bay.

But then she died too.

drops send cold rivulets of water through my muddied soul

A tired, wandering soul.

brings his mouth to my ear, his breath hot against my skin as he whispers, “Did you think I wouldn’t catch you? Do you have any idea who you’re running from?”

I bite back a smile at how disheveled he looks.

Are you seriously treating me like a dog?” I snarl at him, making no motions to move as my body screams at me in agony.

His expression remains empty. “Stop running away like one,”

You can only see a unicorn so many times before it’s just a horse with a fucking horn on its head.