is kindness red and tastes like metal?

“Some people are good, love. Some people are kind. Some people would give their soul to save another from suffering. They exist,” he whispers.

I’m standing in a door, wearing the only thing I own: a yellow dress.
He keeps stroking my cheek, pushing my hair behind my ear.
It’s gentle, but monotone, I think he thinks it’s soothing.

“They exist,” he repeats with slightly more conviction, “but I am not one of them.”
I’m wearing only one shoe and my hands are shaking; still he leaves.

Someone leads me to a bedroom and takes my dress.

No one touches my cheek again.

is kindness red and tastes like metal?

Kirstine Dieckmann

Skørping, Denmark

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  • Misunderstood24
  • Kirstine Dieckmann
  • Linc Brown
  • Kirstine Dieckmann
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