Knife is for K
I wasn’t interested in patterns or significance. I just wanted him to cut me. I wanted to feel skin parting, I wanted to feel myself bleed, I wanted to be scared enough of something to hold myself still.
Origin Story
When I met Kristan, I started to write again. I would come home from meeting him covered in painful marks and emotional bruises, unable to understand why I felt so simultaneously elated and like I wanted to lie down on the floor, cry, and never move again. I found myself lost, unable or unwilling to see the thing that was in front of me…