Shattered Reflections

A Struggle In The Dark

"Mommy doesn't love me anymore", I sobbed into my pillow, my voice muffled by the soft fabric that was supposed to bring me comfort but only amplified my loneliness. At just six years old, I was already becoming a glass child, fragile and transparent, forever hiding my suffering behind a smiling facade. I was a child who grew up too quickly, forced to bear burdens far beyond my small shoulders.

Even at this tender age, I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me. I watched as my friends played carefree, their laughter ringing through the air like sweet music, while I sat in silence, yearning for their simple joys. I wanted so desperately to be like them, to chase butterflies and giggle without a care, but the reality was a heavy anchor pulling me under.

Things had changed ever since mommy had started to pull away. I remember the warmth of her hugs, the way she used to kneel down to my level and tuck a stray hair behind my ear and whisper that she loved me more than anything else. Those moments felt like they were from a different life, one that seemed to dissolve into shadows and echoes of what once was. Now, her eyes glazed over with sadness and stress that I couldn't understand, her smiles brief and forced, as if she was trying to convince herself that everything was okay when I could clearly see that it wasn't.

I felt invisible drifting through the house like a ghost. My grandma would often sit with me, watching me with distant eyes, but ever since life got harder for her too, it was as if she had become a pillar of stone, unyielding and silent. I longed for her to wrap her arms around me, to tell me that everything would be alright, that I was not alone as I felt. But too often, she was lost in her own worries, her hands busy with chores and her mind fogged with thoughts I couldn't touch or understand.

At night I clutches my pillow, wishing it could absorb my fear and sadness, convinced that I was somehow unworthy of love. Each tear that fell fueled my insecurities, whispered words that echoed in my mind " You're not enough." I thought back to a time when laughter filled our home like sunlight, but now the shadows grew longer, creeping into every corner of my heart, filling it with an aching emptiness.

I tried to be strong, to embody the child that I thought I should be, but even the brightest smile felt like a fragile mask, cracking under the suffocating weight of my sorrow. Each day, I wore it like armor, hoping that the world would see happiness I portrayed. My heart ached for something so simple, yet so immensely profound, a soft whisper of " I love you" from my mom. Those words felt like a distant memory, a fading echo of a once vibrant connection. I needed them to reassure me that love still existed, that I was still cherished, but the silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating, as the reassuring words never came.

In the darkened room, the shadows felt like cold hands wrapping around me, whispering doubts into my ears. The lullabies of my broken dreams accompanied me, a haunting melody that played on repeat, reminding me of what could have been. Each note echoed the laughter that once filled our home, now reduced to a muffled silence that magnified my loneliness. I cried, not just for the love I felt slipping through the cracks of our fractured relationship, but also for the childhood that has slipped through my fingers, washed away like sand on a restless shore.

I often found myself staring at faded photographs, images of happier times when the world felt warm and safe. Each picture held a story, a memory of lighter and joy, but as I traced the outlines of those moments, I could feel the chasm that had grown between us. It was as if they were pages from a book I could no longer read, locked away behind a door that had long since closed. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, shifting any hole of reaching across that divide.

And as I lay in bed at night, hoping for sleep to take me far away, the weight of my thoughts pressed heavily on me. Was I just a replacement, a placeholder for the child that was never meant to be? Did my existence feel like a burden to those who had waited so long? The questions spiraled endlessly, drowning out any glimmer of hope. I cried for the innocence that had been stolen before I even had a chance to grasp it, for the dreams that should have included someone else, for the moments forever lost in the echoes of time, where I felt like I was merely filling a void rather than being truly wanted.

Those tears felt like a river flowing from my heart, carrying away the remnants of my childhood, leaving behind only aching memories. I sobbed for the Simple's things, for the bedtime stories that never were, for the hugs that felt more like distant dreams, for the little girl inside me who craved nothing more than to feel safe and loved. With every drop that fell, I mourned not just for what was lost, but for the possibility of never being whole again.

In that solitude, with only the remnants of my shattered spirit as some kind of company or comfort once in a while, I cried out to the universe, I prayed every single night, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear my silent pleas. But the darkness returned, swallowing my cries and wrapping me in a blanket of despair. The emptiness felt insurmountable, a void that no amount of smiling could fill, I was left with the weight of my sorrow, a burden too heavy for a child to bear, as each tear rolled down my cheek, a reminder of the love I desperately for, yet felt forever out of my reach.