It's times like these when I'm up and listening to her half-crazed screaming that I stand at the brink of indecision.
Should I call them myself?
What would be the best for her story?
What will it do to mine?
Her moans and shortened breaths gnaw on my heart like the piece she scraped from me that night. That night that she saw too much and knew nothing. I watched her then, as she stirred, restless, and I shielded the exit, helpless. Knowing I could never say what actually happened, and if I did, would she shatter? But at least she'll get to know the pieces when she puts them back together. I hope, or pray?
Is anyone watching?
The days will pass and I will stay afraid. Will it be another mask worn tomorrow or will there be a burst of light?.. Surely a break in the cycle? This time?.. oh.. ok.. I'll stop.. space?.. Yea, ok.
Did the moment pass in which I failed to help to shift her path or will I still be useless?
Why won't she let me in?
I question my maturity as I see her struggles and attempt to feel the pain her soul endures.
What will give her peace and how can I help?
Would she even let me?
Am I to bear witness, to see the shell of her innocence molt from who she once was, corrupted by mistakes that were not hers but she absorbed and made her own?
And still I sit, in my room waiting for the next round, helpless, useless. Should I keep my guard or let it play. Is it her story or mine that needs change?
So here I'll sit, guard, hope, ..pray? Will someone help?.. Please?
~1:25 am Monday night, July 17, 2018~
