I'm sick. Do I even dare?
I hesitate to ask the question, because the answer isn't one I'll like. The answer is another question -- a more complicated question. A question I'll be answering for the rest of my life.
As I sit here letting more and more of the story unfold, I can't understand.
The question just hangs there, threatening tangibility, threatening to force itself from my lips.It chokes me as I choke back the sobs. A whimpering starts deep within and I wipe angrily at the tears sparking in my eyes. These aren't my tears to cry.
Images, jumbled and mostly imagined, flash before me. A part of me is fighting, trying to tell myself it can be stopped, that it won't happen to me, won't happen to--no I can't think it. I won't. But it wells up inside of me and overwhelms.That question. " How can I bring a child into this kind of world?"