I don’t know how to feel whole anymore. I don’t know how to shake a stranger’s hand without slipping a note in their palm before I walk away. I don’t know how to look in the mirror and say, “You belong to yourself. This is you. These hands are yours, these hipbones are yours, this battle…it’s yours.”
I hear silverware dropping as I stir cream into my coffee and I hear the rain crying against my window on the sunniest of days. I love and love, writing about heartache while I break hearts in the dead of night. I don’t know how to take this pain and hold it in my hand long enough to grasp it, to own it, to make it right.
I make my bed in the morning to the hum of regret and hang pearls on the skeletons in my closet. I kick stilettos off after a long day and let my hair fall to my shoulders as I wipe off red lipstick on the back of my hand. The year has fucked me night after night and I’m too weak to say no.
I grasp a stranger’s hand and kiss their cheek, shaking my happiness into their life. Smile, laugh, take these memories and run. Please don’t stop running until you belong to yourself again. Don’t stop running until you are strong enough to bury the skeletons in your closet in the midnight hours. Don’t stop running until you can exhale a sigh of relief over a cup of hot tea and say, “This battle…it’s mine.what if the leaves refused to fall? what if they swayed all year long whispering, “I love my branches too much to abandon them.”-dah