Everything’s always the same. Just made worse with a hangover.
It’s time I forgave.
Not only you, but myself.
There’s no reason for me
to keep picking off the scabs
of my own abuse.
I once dreaded her smiles like the approach of a square world’s edge, and yet, here I stand now—of my own volition, wanting for nothing more than the courage to make those lips tilt, widen, and brighten my sky.
Sometimes we just need to unlearn how to hope for more.
And though it’s against everything I can remember, I reach out, trying to find light in a world I already know is too dark to offer me anything. I sit and wait and—hope. Because that’s the only cure for the rotting brew of bitterness twisting my gut.
Voices echo against the stillness around me, but I hardly notice. They’re no more than scarce whispers. Hushed lullabies when compared to the constant ringing in my head. In my ears. Blinding flashes akin to sudden shouts that make the back of my eyes protest until they’re forced to close. It’s reflex. And as I sit there, waiting for the dizziness to subside and sound to return, I realize that…
It’s nice to have a reason other than terror to shut my eyes.
I see you often.
In an empty lot.
A crowded room.
In your messages.
And the smile that lights
my face when I do
makes life worth living.
Life’s always a little wrecked. Its edges creased. Sentences halted midway. More than a few pages torn, and some singed right to the spine. But will you really let that stop you from finishing it?
The sun will continue to rise, and with it, the jagged edges of your heart will wear themselves down, and you’ll be safe from the stinging cuts of errant memories running rampant inside your mind.
So, brave this now, treasure up the pain, and find whatever lessons might lie in them. Because it does get better. Those struggles will guide you through the rest of your life. Allow them to be gentle reminders of how easy it is to find a reason to laugh in this dark world—and how it should never be so hard.
And so, she offers me her heart. Open and bright and entirely without price. I can feel the slivers of old cowardice race up my back, trying to command me—it succeeds in contorting my face. I know this. Because I have to physically fight against the downward struggle of skin and sinew, trying not to scare her. But every doubt, every passing fear is silenced when she’s still there. Eyes huge and unblinking, waiting for something I don’t know how to give.
But I will try. For her.