my whole brain is crying

                                                  tell me about your detective squad um.. well, scully, hitchcock, and daniels. they’re pretty much worthless, but they make good coffee. […] now the good ones. rosa diaz. tough, smart, hard to read, and really scary. charles boyle. he’s a grinder. not the most brilliant detective, but he works harder than anyone else. he’s not physically gifted. amy santiago. she’s got seven brothers, so she’s always trying to prove she’s tough. she and peralta have some big bet over who gets more arrests this year. ever since the bet, their numbers have gone way up. […] jacob peralta is my best detective. he likes putting away bad guys and he loves solving puzzles. the only puzzle he hasn’t solved is how to grow up. 

my father tells me we have nothing to worry about. last night he sent me one of those email chains that say at the top “Safety Tips For The Women In Your Life!!!! Don’t Let Her Die!!” 

me, and the stranger on the train. she is asleep and the man is asking me who i am going home to. i feel tears pricking the sides of my eyes. i am 13 while he towers over me. he reaches out one hand, and while i don’t know how she knows, she speaks up without opening her eyes: “If you touch my daughter, sir, I will murder you.” Whatever he grumbles is lost in history, because this moment I am so grateful for the existence of other people that I cannot breathe.

I am 19 and on my phone when i become aware of a 13 year old girl is smiling nervously at a man who’s saying disgusting things. I grab her arm. “There you are, cindy,” I say, and then look at the man like he is bile. “Do you need something from my sister?” i ask, and i walk away with her. she cries later.

I die every night with you, living for your every move.