I swallowed the evidence

I remember the moment like a bruise that won’t yellow, sunlight watching me do it and saying nothing. My hands were small enough to pretend they were innocent, but they knew exactly how to ruin something gently. Right then—I wasn’t a child, I was a dare with a heartbeat, wicked felt warm, like laughter you choke back in church. I told myself it didn’t matter while it was happening, and believed it—until the silence started listening. Now it lives under my tongue like a second language, every year I get older, it gets more fluent in me. We all have that moment that never grows up still breathing, still waiting for us to admit it.