It hits me. I wake up. I take a shower. Get dressed. Pour myself a bowl of cereal. It hits me again. I have to leave. I have to walk faster. I get to the bus stop. It hits me yet another time. He’s there. I can feel It. Can he? Probably not. It hits me. I want to sob. Then It hits me again. I stop. I calm myself down. I get on the obnoxious bus, and into my first block. It’s all I think about. It’s not letting me concentrate. I need to concentrate. I need to do well. I don’t want to feel It. I don’t want him to feel It. It hits me. I go on with my day. I get back on the obnoxious bus. I get off. It hits me. I go home. I sit on the couch. I build myself up to do something around the house. I want to be a good daughter. I want to help my family. It hits me. I don’t want to feel It. No. I want to be free. Free from It. Get rid of It. He’s trying. He’s never even felt It. He doesn’t even know It. It’ll never be the same.