I can still remember, and it haunts me that I do. It haunts me when I close my eyes, when I open them, when I look in the mirror, I see her scars reflected on my face.
I thought therapy or rage outburst would help, but woe and behold the memories only became clearer and the pain raw. And on cold nights I could almost feel the moisture of her tears when they soaked through my shirt. When the wind howls the air carries her moans and cries from the past to the present and maybe even the future. I still remember how she held herself tight and said I think I’m breaking, I don’t want to fall apart and leave broken pieces of me on your floor. I don’t want to leave painful reminders of myself if you ever cut yourself on one of the pieces. She used to bury her face in a pillow so I couldn’t hear her sob, she would then fall asleep so I wouldn’t see her tear stained face. She was strong but broken. Brave but too many scars to go back into the battlefield. But one day the gates and barriers finally gave way. She looked up at me and said “do you know I have too many cracks and cuts I don’t know where to let you in from. I don’t know which dungeon is less tormenting and more bearable. I’m afraid of letting you see me in all my cracked imperfections.” she took a breath so deep she could have finished the air in the room. She looked me in eyes and continued “do you know that when I get sad I cry, I cry so hard I can’t breathe anymore.
I cry so hard my muscles ache and my throat goes dry. I know I’m really sad because when I look at my reflection I have to assure myself I’m fine. Before I go to bed I have to hold myself so I don’t break and crumble, and when I close my eyes, praying I fall asleep before I fall apart, but I’m met by a bottomless pit of darkness. And as I fall into it, it just gets darker and darker”. I cupped her face in my palms “your cracks and cuts aren’t don’t make less of, they allow more of you to come in and complete you.”