It was the smell of old beer exhaled from lungs passing across a dip of Skoal that brought it all back. . .
hands tightening around my throat
threatening to stop the flow of precious air
knowing that he thought so little of me
that he didn’t care whether I lived or died
and that if he killed me he would feel no remorse
because he would believe
until his last breath
permeated with the smell of Bud Light and chew
that I deserved it
Nobody deserves to be treated like that. I’m sorry those kind of memories still carry such force
I think until I can trust a man enough to only touch me with kindness and love, then they still will.