She was like a baby kangaroo wanting to have a mother’s pouch to cramp in when he came but had to compromise to cramp under the blanket pretending to sleep. Dark nights and dark days too. Who knew she was a traumatised kid with her parents horrifying her with screams and blood? Scared to tell him she is hurt because he would pulverise her. Never were they there for their child. Question her for being quiet? Blame her for being silly? Question her for being an introvert? Question her for not being able to render emotions? Don’t. Blame her wellsprings. They Killed her. Vanished her. Today, she is feeble. Not one to not call her silly, not one to fathom and not one to love her. Memories are bitter too.