Madison Street

I passed my rapist on the street today.
He wears glasses now and he grew a beard.
Not a lumberjack beard. It still grows in patchy.

I don’t know what made me look up as he came close to me.
Maybe some invisible tether still exists between our souls. Sustained by the damage and hurt that still lives there.

Maybe it’s just that he was on a bike and I didn’t want to get run over.

Whatever the reason, our eyes met.
There was a flicker of recognition before he had sped by.
As if I was merely someone he may have once stood in line next to but couldn’t place.

It’s amazing to pass someone who has held your soul in their grasp, has known you inside and out, has forever altered the course of your life and not even acknowledge them.

As if the moments that forever fused you together and shattered your trust, your ability to give freely is no more than a stranger.

I passed my rapist on the street today.
And I don’t know which one of us was more surprised to find the others eyes upon them.

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