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S is a difficult topic to talk about. It makes people uncomfortable, squeamish even. I mean, you can’t just strike up a conversation with a friend on a random Tuesday about it… can you? 

Nevertheless, it’s been on my mind a lot lately, which is interesting as I never truly got close to it. I think my first exposure to it was through online media; a song or, probably a movie. Mom told me to look away from the screen so I did. It’s funny cause at the time I couldn’t even understand why someone might want that.

Later, after a few more songs and a few more movies with “s” scenes, the first real life exposure to it was with an older boy from my high-school. Well, I didn’t witness it but everyone heard about it. Of course, it was a big deal at the time, mostly due to his age.

I still think about him every now and then.

Later still, in my last year of high-school, it was with a close friend at the time. Well, almost. She was drunk and I was tired, so I just went to sleep. I woke up to some worrying messages on my phone - she sent me a barrage of messages, over the span of a couple hours, that I still have saved somewhere in our chat history. I was horrified at the possibility and frantically messaged her but she was'nt answering.

We met a week later and talked things through and we’re still friends.

After that it was mostly radio silence.

I visit their rooms once in a while, carried by Mother Dream's gentle arms, to be reminded of why they earned their stay. Other times, I enter of my own volition. I pick up their pieces with utmost care. I study them, looking back fondly at when they first laughed at my joke, or when they shared a moment of vulnerability for me; a hug, seeking comfort, a smile, giving it.

I put down their piece exactly as I found it. I try to, anyway. Eventually, inevitably, every single one gets scratch marks. Some of the remnants are so weathered, I can barely recognize them. Surely, they must've belonged to someone special.