Maybe I don't remember his eyes, his hands o even his name but I can't ignore all that he left , all that flashbacks in the form of souvenirs that hunt me like that little breeze in the first days of autumn those that somehow find the way to my deepest memories...to my soul.
I remember his touch, his hard and manly hands going through my skin, tarnishing my body, my blood, like a little lamb in the mouth of a wolf making this disturbing feeling even more fearsome than just a memory.
How can I forget the fea...that day he changed me, he changed and he changed us just to be another abuse story, one of those that are abundant in this childhood, in this society. And now he's just the wolf to my dreams, my sleep, the love I can't feel, he's the wolf of me, the lamb.
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