some prose/poetry i wrote on dealing with flashbacks from abuse All I can hear is the click of the keyboard, the buzz of my phone, the sound of your voice, the sound of my fingers tap tap tap tap tapping on the wall methodically to get myself to fall asleep at night. It still smells like the window is wide open. You always said winter was your favorite season. No, maybe it was autumn. What I do remember is how much you loved the cold. I left the window in my bedroom open all winter, I don’t even remember why I did it I just left it open, maybe I was hoping you’d come through and apologize, maybe I was hoping you’d come through and kiss me goodnight, maybe I was hoping the cold air would make me as cold as you so we could finally be a perfect match. You didn’t like me sad, you didn’t like me angry, you didn’t like me anxious, you didn’t like me happy. I’m starting to think you never really liked me at all. They say cold air smells different because there are actually fewer things to smell, but I truly believe it is one of the most laden scents on earth; the key ingredient to time travel. Just add water. Just add water. Just add water. Are you drowning yet?