It wasn’t meant to sting, but it stung nonetheless. Not the whispers behind my back, not the thinly concealed mockery, but the words flung at my face. An accusation begging denial. My breathing comes in short gasps, and I cannot find the words to refute them. The accusations hang in the air, and I let them, sagging my shoulders in shame.
My sigh is one of despair. This is all I can do to stop the groan of sadness rising up within me. My first thought is to run and hide, but that won’t do. Nor will my next thought – to throw caution to the wind and fly like a kite without a home.
“You think too much!” he yells at me, as he unsuccessfully tries to slide his hand between my thighs.
“You need to let go and experience things…” his murmurs meet my unyielding lips.
But he doesn’t understand. Those thoughts, they keep me sane. They hold me together when my imagination threatens to run away with itself. I try to tell him, with tears shimmering in my eyes, with the sadness that brackets my smile, with the way I cross my legs as if guarding treasure.
I try to tell him. To explain to him that I’m scared. Scared of what I would become if I let myself go.
I try so hard to be good and my fails are the greater proportion of my attempts. I believe so deeply, yet how can I convince others when I’m not buying the rap myself?
Now, I tell myself that if I just did this or that, it would get better. Or if I was seeing this person, or even had this thing. But I know the truth – it would make no difference. The resolution is only good for the moment in which it is made.
I’m searching for something, though I know not what it is. Maybe if I knew, I would find it sooner. Still, I doubt that. Maybe if I knew, I wouldn’t even be searching for it.
Search I must though, for that elusive something which seems to hold the key to the dam built around my heart and emotions. If I found it, we would hide the key so that I never know the havoc of which I am capable. And with it of course, my chances of ever knowing complete fulfillment.