You didn’t hit like a tornado, you came as showers, washing then stopping and doing it all over again till you washed off the layers:
Layers of confidence gained from laurels that masked the roots of self-pity I wallowed in. Constantly worrying if I’d be chosen for the next contest and struggling to forgive myself when I didn’t bring the trophy back.
Layers of smiles I wore to mask eyes tired and swollen from staying up to mourn my losses – lost investments, lost opportunities, and lost relationships all hinged on the roots of distrust.
As though it wasn’t enough that you knew how sorry I was about my existence and how I’d rather cower from everyone who tried to come close because I believed they all couldn’t help hurting me, you kept pouring and carelessly washed away the strength I derived from being needed. You took away all those who made me look forward to another day.
Until then, I hadn’t realized how addicted I was to them. Perfectly masking roots of emotional abuse with eloquence and craft. I’d talk for hours, acknowledging how much they needed my stories to be happy, but never paying cognizance to how relevant they made me feel.
You took them away and I craved to live in anywhere but here, yet, you held out your hand, said you were and will always be near and all I needed to do was take your hand.
How could I trust you? I’d never known how too.
Right then you washed off all the layers of fleeting bravery that I wore rather than have, often returning home after a day of acting so strong to answer if I’d ever be enough.
Years of practiced perfection crumbled in weeks of letting you into my life. Each time, you’d get to the root of another one, leaving me bare, feeling worse than I did when its seed was planted then you’d professionally say, “you know how to love, now, let me love you.”
You mastered that line, never missing word, nor stress and evoking the same feeling of surrender from me and now
I am everything I never thought I could be,
- Beautifully broken.