Basket of moss

I don't know how I found you, but I'm glad I did. It was a room, at the back of a house, with a secret door which I had stumbled upon. A secret door where lain beyond was you.

You were a prisoner there, it was a small space with a mattress and bookshelves all around, cramped full of unimportant things. You were lying on the mattress, sitting against the wall, looking so pale and weak I thought you were going to die.

I had to go over to you and hold you in my arms so tightly, before you even realised I was there. Your eyes were so dead they scared me; they have never looked that empty.

You wouldn't talk, but somehow I figured you were just starving. I found a box of muffins in the kitchen of the house, which I brought back to you. You finished everything and I guess you were so thankful for me, because afterwards you wouldn't allow me to leave you alone.

You still refused to say anything but you made me stay there with you, making sure I was there each time you woke up. I couldn't bear to leave you alone anyway, not after seeing how you were caught up in that tiny hole all on your own the whole time.

I'm not sure how long we stayed there, just me against the wall, stroking your hair while you laid on my lap with your arms around me. You were like a child, and I so badly wanted to stay with you forever.

Soon, your captor returned. He went on a rage at seeing me there, and he grabbed at your hair, pulling you up to wake you. I tried to protect you, by fighting back against your captor but he just kicked me out of the secret room and locked the door behind him.

There was a lot of banging noise from the inside, and when the door opened again, your captor walked out with a death glare for me. You refused to even look me in the eye, as you walked out of your room with a backpack. Presumably that was your first time in a long time leaving that hellhole.

Your captor looked at me and told me he was bringing you to another place. A special place, fit only for a person like you. I wanted to protest, I wanted to bring you with me, because I could see he was torturing you but the look in his eyes dared me not to even speak.

And I'm sorry, that I let you down. I let you go with him, right when I thought you're safe with me. I didn't fight for you. I just let you walk away, with your head hung low, right on the tail of that bloody asshole.

____

I wish I can be there for you. It may be just a dream, but I feel like something's bothering you, like you're in trouble or buried in lots of problems that you can't talk to anyone about.

I know for a fact that if I approach you, you'll just push me the fuck away, but bloody hell you know I meant it when I told you I'll always be here for you if he ever gives you problems or neglects you.

If you think the "you" in the above story was referring to the asshole who dumped me, you've got it all wrong. You'd know who it is only if you really read into every single detail and if I've talked to you about my feelings about my relationship with this person, so, I guess only he himself would know who "you" is. Meh.

P.s. Refer to the Victorian flower language.