The Difference

I remember hearing my dog barking at me as I left. I remember the smell of my mother’s cobbler coming out of the oven. I remember the lawnmower whirring in the distance. I remember dropping the old book I had been reading. I remember looking towards the field across from my house, the place I’d spend most of my summers. I remember it was twilight then. I miss the crunching of leaves under my feet. I miss my own silence. I miss the soft brushing of skin. I miss the rhythm my bass guitar made. I miss driving on the highway. I miss knowing what day and time it is. All I know is the damp, cold basement floor. All I know is the darkness that surrounds me. All I know is the sound of footsteps upstairs. All I know is the small beam of light when the door is opened. All I know is his hot breath against my ear. All I know is his scar underneath his right eye.