⠀⠀I no longer ask for healing, I ask for another body, one that does not carry echoes of pain. Peel me, write me again with gentler hands. Let me live. Let me live.
⠀⠀I would hold my flesh and leave it folded at heaven’s door.
‘Strip these bones of every fingerprint the past has carved into them and give me a body untouched by memory! I would trade this flesh for anything that has never learned the language of fear.’
⠀⠀“Woah,” I exclaimed. “He is proud of you and trusts you so much. I bet you’re exceeding all the KPI indicators as an heir, eh?”
⠀⠀I took another sip before continuing. “Among those people he introduced you to, were they just a bunch of old rich men...”
"Dad's at it again."
I set the pin down carefully before reaching for my water. "I don't know what kind of shit he heard, but he got weirdly adamant about dragging me along on this business trip. He was basically parading me around."
@Rennervatte I brightened immediately when she slided a box, like a child on his birthday. Inside was enamel pins of the annex from Anne Frank House, rendered in miniature with an absurd level of architectural detail. Tiny windows. Tiny roofline. Tiny everything.
The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it became.
"I'm serious. Every meeting. Every dinner. Every reception. Every room. I'd barely sit down before it was, 'This is my son.'" The phrase had become so repetitive I could practically hear his voice saying it.
@bleakmoors somehow it is more interesting to tell him that instead of how my job is going.
⠀⠀Then I rest my chin on a hand, “What about you, @bleakmoors?”
⠀⠀“Not much. Amsterdam last week, went to Anne Frank house to find inspiration, and bought you this.” I tapped the box lightly and gave out a soft smile. “Cute enamel pins.”
“I bought many of this, postcards too.” I added.