Around two in the morning, I laid on the cool tile of my bathroom floor, naked, as thin lines of sweat slid down my side and along the outline of my rib cage before puddling beneath me. I heard myself panting as pain in my lower abdomen quickly reached a crescendo with a pulsing, stabbing burn.
After twelve years of therapy my psychiatrist said something that brought tears to my eyes. He said, ‘No hablo ingles.’ – Ronnie Shakes
fcm 4 2015-03-23 13:15:07.26