Oh.

Death of a mother

As you take your last breath, I’m standing over you, holding your hand and trying to hold back the tears running down my face. I’m forcing a smile because you deserve to experience a glimpse of joy before you go. And the words in my head are suffocating me. Unconditional Love. I hate you. You love me. I love you. You’re dying. I’m scared. I gave everything. I didn’t give enough. I need you. Please, don’t leave. You left.

Wounds and Wounds and Wounds

You are what you were that day when you let go of me. I remember that agonizing feeling when I first heard of what had happened to you. I could feel in my guts then that you had taken all that I needed, and planted within me what would infect me. It took me years to understand, but eventually I did. And I screamed and cried, and I told my mother about you. Oh, how she pitied me.

Scars

The story of how I got my scar was a dreadful one. On some days, looking into a mirror was the hardest challenge the day had to offer. Sometimes all I could see were blurry outlines and lights. And on some days it was pure grim darkness. I can hear you talking about how our bodies are beautiful with all the scars and imperfections they are bearing, but I can also see you, blurry but also crystal-clear, shifting in place, awfully quiet when in a crowded room and constantly pulling on your clothes like you are being suffocating by them. In these moments, I know that you too, are where I am. Scared of facing yourself in the mirror.

Oh, love

His eyes were a little swollen, he was sobbing silently, almost without sound. I wondered who made him feel like he wasn’t allowed to be angry and sad and express it loudly. I sat down next to him, while taking his unlit cigarette from his fingers and placing it next to me on the bed, resting my arm on his back and slowly drawing circles on top of his shirt. They were very familiar movements, almost muscle memory. And there were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to drown who had hurt him. I wanted to rip apart who had tainted his soul. His pain felt like mine that day. Circular motions, I reminded myself. I am his constant.

The day I started healing

I knew there was nothing I could do to help you. She, who had been by my side when they took you away from me was crying silently, so she wouldn’t stand in the way of my pain. I accompanied you inside, knowing it would be the last time I would see you. Behind bars, like a prisoner. And I remember how tortured your little soul was. It was my fault. No, it wasn’t. It was their fault. You deserved better. I deserved better. Her comfort meant the world. But all I remember of that day now, is that the rain was pouring down on me strong enough to make my tears seem invisible.