The sound is gone.
But it will never disappear.
I carry your screaming within me.
The violence of your mouth.
The quivering lips.
And that I ought not to move, make a sound.
You were hunting.
You never needed much.
It was endless, the nights felt endless.
In the morning I thought I could have dreamt it all.
Erase it from my memory, my bones.
Your gallop in the house.
The pestilent smoke.
The rage and accusations.
I became an animal in front of you.
I had to learn how to survive.
And you disintegrate and lose yourself in fantasies
But I’ll always remember the nights
When I thought that I was going to die.
“Girl with flowers in her hair” by Isidor Kaufmann (1853-1921)