Hollow

Memories

A photograph, that was all it took for the tears to burst my dam of restraint. I clutched the solid wooden frame tight in my hand, able to see a ghostly reflection of my face in the thin sheen of glass that covered it. I looked past my own dreary eyes and stared upon his face that had been caught in a moment of perfection. It was the happiest memories that hurt the worst, they were the ones that cut me deepest. I focused in on his eyes; they were glistening with the twinkle of laughter that once I loved. Now, they laughed at me. They reminded me of what I had lost. I clutched the frame tight, to feel his head resting upon me one last time. It was in that moment I realized I no longer knew how I felt. I was numb, yet somehow in agony. I longed to be free of him, yet I wanted him back more than I'd ever wanted anything.

Memories are the soul torturers.
I couldn't escape them, or hide from them; they were the worst kind of monster.
I was scared of what my past held, all the memories that seemed to never escape me. They were pin point needles, piercing my skin. I couldn't scream or fight back; I had to just endure the pain as the picture of his face flashed through my mind.
I had experienced pain before.
But nothing amounted to this.
I could neither hide or run or fight them. My memories were indeed my worst enemy and the thing that would most likely destroy me.

The memory of his death is the most painful and how he died of something I could have prevented from happening. That cliff fall was my fault, if I hadn't taken him to that wretched place, if I had kept him safe. No, the world takes pleasure in my pains, in my guilt.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my shins; if I could just curl up into a ball, I wouldn't have to face real life, I'd be protected from everything around me.
But I'd still have to live with myself, with the wretched memories swirling around in my head. My eyes, already red and puffy from crying, squeezed shut to push more tears out. I let my head fall down to my knees, and I pulled my legs closer to me. No matter what I did, there was no where I could hide from the thoughts in my head.

When I think of Bash as a young child, he's always the first to pick up a friend who had fallen; his heart bigger than the soccer ball he kicked around the backyard. He had these chubby cheeks, I'll never forget them, and how they dimpled when he smiled. He wasn't a perfect child, but then who is? Is it ever fair to demand perfection? He prayed with love and hugged his mother like she was made of glass, always the gentle one. I want to go back, back to that time and hang onto my boy with motherly hands.

It's too painful to think back. To not hear the laughter in the hall. The silence in the house deafens my ear. It's an eerie silence. Flowers don't bloom anymore. The trees don't hum, the whole nature, it's hollow as if it is grieving all along with me. My headaches, it's the rain I guess, It's difficult to breathe, I cannot stay inside.

Cloaked heavily I walked on. I Walked till it hurt. The stream lay before me like a broad belt of black and silver brocade. The waxing moon was mirrored in the almost unruffled surface and where a ripple curled it the tiny crest glittered like white flame. Beautiful more than usual. My bare feet touched the water and then it hit me again. The pain, the agony, the memory.

The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer. Beautiful was the sky and that was the last thing I saw. I tripped over a  rock. I fell. I was too weak to get up. I could barely feel myself.

Unconscious she lay. Will she be woken?