Until I Cry

And I cried and I cried for seven days. I woke up and the tears were shed with the very first blink of my eye. And the last one dropped when I closed them for the night. I cried when I came home, finding no one there to welcome me. I felt empty inside. Then I cried when I had to carry my bags all alone up the stairs. I felt unable to master the world on my own. Then I cried while packing your things in a box, to hand those items to you to go with you wherever that would be. I felt like I gave you some parts of myself with that set of possessions. And on the seventh day I awoke like the days before. It was very much the same. Yet I did not cry because I felt empty, alone or broken into pieces. It came to my mind so easily all of a sudden. Like the first ray of light over the mountain top to rattle the darkness of the night, that those perspectives were not my own, had never been mine. They had always been yours. Had been those of my parents before you. And you had used this, used my former wounds to inflict even more pain. You thought I would need you to wait for me at home, when the truth was you were never really there for me in the first place. You thought I was not fit enough to handle life for myself, when the truth was that you only wanted to keep me small. You thought only your belongings made me whole, when the truth was that they had cramped the space for my own wonders to fill with. And so, on the seventh day, I awoke, bawling like the days before. But this time the tears I cried were tears of relief. And when sleep came to me that night, I wiped away my last tear, not knowing what would come to me instead. Hopeful for better times, frightened for worse to follow. And yet I got up on this bright morning and, instead of with a tear, I opened my eyes to a new world. With new adventures that I was not yet bold enough to take on. With new obstacles that I felt not yet strong enough to overcome. With new chances, that I did not quite make out in the distance yet. Yet. So I got up and I walked to all the places we had spent our time together. Turned to every corner you had pushed me into and hit again just once more all the walls you had put up around me. To see that life was still full of you- full of memories, full of your voices in my head, full of remembering what had been. But instead of breaking my heart over missing you, it broke because I was sure it needed so much time to forget: All the terrorizing, all the screaming and shouting, all the trauma you had caused. You were there, everywhere, and the loathing kicked in for the very first time. I wanted you gone and I got aware of the long way I had to go, away from you.

Until I could breathe again.