Inconsolable

Remember the path you took? So many roads you could have taken and somehow you wound up here. Could it have been any further a-field? Could the chances have been any more slim and yet somehow still, here you are. After all this time and angry reflection, would you say the beginning was the end?

I can’t help but feel frustrated and somewhat in contempt. I’m cocooned in the chrysalis of overflowing rage. What the hell were you thinking? What sombre moment of deep reflection helped buoy you on your way. What silly childish impetus help convince you of loves soft flush and it’s all enduring emotion would take you all the way.

We were supposed to be your buttercups and your sunshine in the rain. Somehow in the midst of the circle you got lost and took a lengthy detour. Our little circle bowed out of shape and those little souls watched patiently for you to return to us. Little souls warm to touch, filled with expectation and fearlessness. Do you realise how long you took? Do you realise you were gone so long you still haven’t come back? And our little souls filled with knowing, drowning under the bitter taste of daily disappointment.

He didn’t treat you right and you chose to stay. You thought you hid the pain from us, we were so desperate for warmth and love and each time we saw you breaking you let someone come and take us away. We learnt desperation and emptiness before we ever knew what it was to love. I’m not sure what to feel when I think about that. Perhaps I’m like a set of brass scales, a display of shininess and temporary usefulness, swinging from the weight of anger and pity, whichever one infects the spaces in my heart most.

It’s been years. We’ve told you infinite times how much we love you. We’ve cradled your damage and finally carried your pain. These manic character changes range from sad understanding to wild eyed rage. We didn’t come back because you mended your ways, we learnt to love on our own and still we’re old before our time.

We children have had no youth. Those knees we scraped, the playground fights, the naivety, the first love, the dreams, the hopes. They were never shared. We ran away, we found emancipation far less painful than living in the shadow of your torment and his contempt. Nights spent scrubbing out fridges and waiting on tables, study done in lunch breaks and on early evenings in the school library. Hungry days with no food and no money. Walking past the winter warm homes with soft light and the smell of dinner wafting from the kitchen. Friends who lived in perfect rooms in perfect homes complaining of being grounded on a Friday night. I don’t remember how it felt, I don’t like to remember. But I know the hunger, I know loneliness, I know desperation and fear. I know enough to know that these souls might never be fully healed, but still we’re fixing yours.