A Present Something

"She just wants to love herself."

And maybe she just needs this. Just needs to cry a little. To take another by the coat sleeve in the cold winter chill and bury her heart in a warmth ever flowing. Maybe she just needs someone to listen.

She's been listening to herself so long now that everything feels so overwhelming. And the answers aren't coming. They don't seem to care. It's as if the solution forgot its role and simply allowed the problem to linger uninhibited. She's been listening to her heartbeat every night. Lying, sitting, standing awake all hours just listening to the echo of the blood rush to the temples.

I'm so afraid that someday I'll find her with hands uplifted. A cross attached to a chain around her neck, praying to the east and carving pentagrams into some unwilling surface. I pray myself sometimes. I pray this never happens.

She's listening to those sad songs again. And pretending they don't affect her. She's behaving as though she just enjoys the chorus, always singing along. Somewhere deep inside, she's hurting. And she's masking it well.

I'm praying that someday she forgets her inhibitions and her worries. I'm hoping she lets it go and has her own release session. I'm praying.

She's waiting.

And tomorrow breaks over the horizon again. Just the same as yesterday. The sun sends its rays through half-sheltered windows. The blinds are almost working....I wish they could keep away everything....But the new day still rises. And we can't block out everything forever.

"We grew up too fast; falling apart like the ashes of some flag."