I am attempting to mend the pain and hurt I’ve been researching lately.
“I’m so sorry.
It won’t happen again.
I promise, this is the last time.
. . .
We’ll fix this.
Years of gas lighting, emotional and physical abuse lead to a dead end
eventually. Every stitch is a jab, a nag and a slap experienced during toxic
and unhealthy relationship. Every glistening bead is a sore memory that still
hurts. There are good times and there are bad times, they layer upon each
other. Sometimes it will bleed through. The worst experiences are the best
hidden. The latest is the one, that is most likely visible. Unfortunately, the
result of domestic violence is often fatal, if not intervened. Sometimes there
might be a tiny wish and whisper; Death, do us apart.
No artist was harmed in the process.
What is loss? Absence of something, a void filled with emotions such as loneliness, disbelief, grief and even fear. Is it truly empty? Is there a way to be numb and unfeeling?
As in language of roses, the deeper the red, the dearer the person who you mourn was. The situation feels so unfair, it might turn into anger. The piece is a sore wound to carry on the body. It becomes a solid merit of sorrow to be worn.