fight

We are Christia’s sporadic thoughts. We bombard her with short dreams.
I am Christia’s vessel of secrets. I carry her and everyone else’s secrets.
She accepts them as her own.
I am Christia’s broken spirit. She picks up the pieces as she goes.
I am Christia’s wounded ego. She sprinkles salt on me to keep me strong.
I am Christia’s longing heart. I am in perpetual withdrawal.
We are Christia’s undergarments. We hide the would-be realizations she doesn’t have the comprehension for.
I am Christia’s will. F it.