I couldn’t go back to what I was. I just couldn’t. The wounds were too deep and yet to be healed. I couldn’t just easily step back and fall into my familiar skin. I couldn’t ignore the gnashes and scars adorning my soul. I couldn’t easily forget, the pain and how it sounded in my heart. It was all unbearable, unforgettable, unforgiving. It was all confusing what one person, how much power, they had over me. How one person, changed it all.
Yet, I believe I did not change. No not at all. I grew up and realized life was not cotton candy and fluffy clouds. I realized in order to be grateful for happiness, I have to drown in sadness. In order to see light, I have to be in darkness. I have to see a bit of both, experience the good and bad.
But why, oh why the pain was unbearable, intolerable, devastating. Oh why, my soul was dragged through mud, rocks and thorns and tattered. Why was I tired? Why was I sick of everything? Was I living in an illusion of pain?
I didn’t know and quite frankly I was lost in the storm that were my feelings and thoughts. One person could tear that veil from your eyes, your beautiful perspective. You saw beauty in everything. They destroyed you and you were a fallen castle, a rubble of bricks and broken glass.
I picked myself up, slowly, painstakingly as not to break me ever more. I put myself back together, slowly, as it was painful not to find pieces that fit together. I planted flowers in empty spaces where there should have been parts of me, but now lost, long gone, buried somewhere far. I made myself beautiful, with all my battle scars, they were my written history of a war with pain and loss. I adorned myself with the invisible wounds of a broken heart. I was back again, a little bit different, but back again.