It starts with a kiss or a touch, always quick, like an accidental brushstroke of painful memories on a virgin canvas.
Oops. Did I trigger you with intrusive memories while you were trying to sleep? My bad. Hush, now. Shhh. It’s okay. Just a nightmare. Fine me when you’re awake for the terrible things I did while you slept.
You hold us with silent hugs of paranoia, make us jump with every new sound that hits our eardrums.
I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to be a superhero and save yourself from all the demons. You’re not dead yet; don’t I make you stronger?
Musings of a Wanderer 
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