I used to love how he said my name. All I felt was pure, unimaginable joy. My name was made fun of often and I hated it. Until he came around and taught me to love my name, but not just my name. He taught me how to love myself as well. But now he's gone, left me, but not before treating me like shit. Now I hate my name again, but I hate yours even more…

"How are you doing?"

A thousand memories and thoughts come to mind.

When he raped me,

The cuts on my wrists because of it,

Hurt, sad, mad, confused.

Alone, crying on my bed,

Flinching at the smallest of movements,

Scared, lifeless, horrible, silent.

Then I smile, "I'm doing fine, how about you?"