letters after dark | poetry book 3

i'll be fine, it's okay.

in a dream, i saw myself sitting by the couch, staring at nothing. a face of no emotion, slightly slouched, staring straight ahead into a plain wall. if it was any sane person, they'd immediately assume i was crazy. but seeing myself, i knew i was just disappointed and heartbroken.

i knew the hollow eyes that would burst into tears at any moment. i know a stinging chest filled with needles when i see a heavy-sighing chest. anxiety-filled head, terror in places you wouldn't expect. hands placed on either legs, curling in a caged and crazed way, toes curling in an undefined rage and hurt.

"what happened this time?"

"he promised something again,"

"what did you say?"

"like what i've always said,"

"like what?"

"it's okay. it's fine. don't worry about me,"

two things can be true at the same time. plausible. possible. it was an answer and a comfort to myself.

it has always been like that. answering a question and easing the difficult thing called a triggered trauma and train myself to try and keep my emotions as still as a water.

"whose fault was it?"

"why does it matter?"

"of course it does,"

"your anger will only want to blame him. your hurt will want to blame yourself,"

"tell him what hurt you, why did it hurt you, and how both of you can fix this,"

"why do i feel like i am reduced to a child that doesn't know how to express the hurt? i do not want to look like i don't know why i got scratches and bruises and ask for band-aids. i can handle this on my own,"

"your anger and hurt will turn into resentment and form a lump on your throat and hollowness in your chest. the stinging will never go away; it only gets heavier and heavier over time,"

the curled palms finally formed into balls of fist. my mouth hung slightly open before tears finally bursted from my eyes.

"it's fine. i'm okay. everything will be okay. there's no need to worry about me,"