Her Spirit

Her spirit knows there is something wrong before it is physically manifested.  She has anxious, looming thoughts and feelings about the future.  At night, her body curls up as she dreams of the depressing inevitable.  She awakes, shaking, feeling a tear slide down her cheek.  “No”, she begs.  “Please no…”

The days continue on, the same foreboding ache in her heart.  She tries to ignore it, ignore the signs.  But then. it’s too late.  It is physical, it is real, it has been verbalized into the world.  There is no going back.

Her spirit warned her, tried to protect her heart.  And yet, there was still hurt.  Instead of nightmares, her nights were filled with tears.  Crying until there was nothing left to cry about.  Food lost taste, the sun didn’t bring her joy, she stopped leaving the house.

Her spirit knew what was coming, but a warning didn’t help her broken heart.  Months would go by, full of sadness, loneliness and depressive thoughts.  But one day, her spirit reassured her, she would be whole again.  The hurt would be gone, her brokenness would be healed, and she could live & love once again.

 

two steps ahead, ten steps behind

two steps ahead, ten steps behind

my walls have shed, love is so blind

I give you my all, but you don’t have the time.

 

two steps ahead

and I’m running for your love,

it’s too good to be true,

I feel up and above.

 

ten steps behind

I’m crying in the dark,

my trust was questioned

and it broke my heart.

 

two steps ahead, ten steps behind,

love hurts my head, but we’re still intertwined.

trust must be dead, impossible to find,

so I lay in bed, broken and confined.

 

 

 

Maybe I am Worthy of Love

The breeze from the open car window grazed my face, blew my long hair back and seemed to clear my mind with its purity.  I closed my eyes, enjoying the softness of the air that brought freedom to my spirit.  The sun kissed my face, warming my skin and undoubtedly forcing my freckles to become darker.

And yet, my heart still ached.

Peace lasted but moments until my mind circled back to our relationship and its brutal ending.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so Momma kept dragging me out of the house after the break up, trying to cheer me up… Words can’t explain how thankful I am for her, but I wasn’t ready to cheer up.  Yes, it had already been a month after he left me, but it was normal to still be hurting- right?

Our relationship seemed so perfect to me, so completely full of joy and adventure!  But looking back it wasn’t as dreamy as I had imagined…  We honestly didn’t have a single thing in common.  Our conversations would lull to silence after having listened to him talk about cars for hours upon hours.  I didn’t know anything about cars!  Hell, I drove a ‘99 4 Runner and the check engine light was always on – but it worked, didn’t it?  What more was to be said?

We never talked about anything real, like our biggest fears and dreams.  We didn’t talk about God or the meaning of life or how the heck the earth came into creation.  We never did anything but makeout and drive around town.  How pathetic.

One day, he told me he wanted to marry me, that I was the girl of his dreams after just two months of dating!  Crazy, huh?

I thought he was it!  That I had met my person, but I was so wrong.  So naive, irrational and unrealistic! I thought we were in love, my eyes were blinded to the obvious – we were oh so wrong for eachother in almost every single way.

And yet, I was still hurting.

Was I heartbroken over Tristan or heart broken for myself?  Heart broken that my idea of a perfect relationship might not exist?  Heartbroken that I may endure hundreds of  nasty breakups until I find the one?  But who even knows if the man I’ve been looking to spend the rest of my days with is even out in the world!  What if I never find a man who wants to live life with me?  What if I am unlovable, undesired, unworthy?

I can’t go there.  That thought is completely unbearable.

“Abs?”  Momma’s voice freed me from my tiring thoughts.

“Hun, you have got to stop crying over him.  He isn’t worth all these tears.”  She gave me a worried look from behind the wheel.  Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white.

I touched my cheek, feeling the tears that fell from my eyes.  I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“I know Momma, I’m sorry.”  I wiped the tears I had let fall one too many times. The car slowed as Momma took the exit onto Briargate boulevard.  I watched the sun waning in the sky, creeping lower in the sky to inevitably hide behind the mountains… But I didn’t want the sun to go down.  Nighttime always brought me more pain, more fear, more anxiety, more haunting dreams and thoughts…

“Where to first Abby?  Francesca’s or Sephora?”

Both good options,  “Let’s do Francesca’s first, that way I can find a matching lipstick at Sephora after if I buy a new outfit.”  I gave Momma a pathetic smile that she accepted warmly.

Therapy shopping.  Story of my life.  Whenever I am  too depressed to leave the house, my friends and family lure me out through the temptation of shopping.  I have no idea why, but spending money has always made me feel better.  Until the bills come in of course…

Buying a new dress, new makeup, a pair of earrings, new shoes – literally anything makes me feel better.  If I look good, I feel good.  And maybe my looks will help me find a new man someday who truly loves me.  Who is actually good for me.  If I am pretty enough, maybe, just maybe, I will be worthy of love.

 

The Mind

The sun is shining but I’m left in the dark.
A fog blurs my mind like a haunting ghost.

It’s warm outside,
But my body is still cold.

What is wrong with me?
Should I drink some tea?
Can I ignore the tension in my brain?

Oh you’re fine, my mind reassures me.
Maybe it’s lack of sleep!
Tossing and turning in bed all night,
Staring at the mesmerizing moonlight.

I stand in the mirror,
A figure stares back at me.

Hello?
Who is that?

Grey eyes look into mine,
Dark circles hang beneath like heavy clouds,
Clouds ready to burst.

Cheeks are gaunt,
Lips are pursed.
Unattractive.

Am I too skinny?
Do I eat more?

I sit with a plate of food before me,
But I’m not hungry,
Never am because of the pills,
The pills that get me through the day.

My body hurts for no reason,
Muscles sting with each movement,
A knife sits on the table,

Should I make it worse?
Add to the pain that already exists?
No.

It’s warm outside,
And my body is still cold.

I hold on to what I know,
My reality.
The fog in my mind,
And the ache combined.

Because I Love You

 

Everything I do
Is because I love you.
I love the way you smile,
The way your eyes light up
When you talk about things you adore.
I love the way you snore in your sleep,
The way you twitch and bump into me as you doze off.
I love the ways in which you talk to others,
Treat others,
Welcome others.
I love the way you carry yourself,
Despite your own insecurities.
I love your dedication,
Your hard work.
Everything I do
Is because I love you.
I love you,
And I pray for your heart every morning.
As the birds sing praises,
I eagerly give all to God.
I give Him you.
You know I love you – but…
But you are not well, my darling.
You are torn, fighting yourself on the inside.
You don’t love yourself,
I can see that.
Remember that I love you,
And because I love you I am letting you go.
I want you to heal,
To grow
And to love yourself.
Now is not our time,
And it’s okay.
Our time may be later,
But for now I love you.
Because I love you,
I am letting you go…

Historical Fiction: My City

The moon’s light broke through my blinds as I tried to fall asleep. Nothing like a world war keeps you up late night after night of wondering if Hitler will choose to dispose of your people… How could he do such a thing? How can he be stopped?
A flash of light clouded my thoughts. I jumped out of bed, nearly gasping at how cold the floor was below my bare feet, and rushed to the window. My nightgown drifted just above my toes; the fabric shook as I shivered from the winter cold.
My fragile hand drew back the drapes, and I stealthily let one eye peek out the window. A shocking breath escaped my dry lips.
They’re here.
Tanks and soldiers quietly entered the city, walking along my neighborhood streets, guns at the ready.
I swallowed past the ball in my throat and forced myself to move. Rushing to my closet, I yanked my coat from a hanger and hurried to my parents’ room. Knocking on the door first, I let myself in.
They were both sound asleep, oblivious to the horrors approaching just beyond our home’s walls.
“Momma, Papa! Wake up, the Nazis are here!”
My father moaned and squished his face into the pillow; momma began to stir. I ran to kneel by her side, “Momma, we need to do something! What if they are back for the Lewinskys? For us?”
Her blue eyes shot open. Her penetrating gaze frightened me as we stared at each other for a moment, then, she turned to Papa.
“Darling,” she shook his body, “darling wake up!”
He growled at her, “What is it?” Papa turned and rubbed his eyes wearily, then he saw me. I must have looked afraid for he sat up and began to violently tug off the blankets surrounding him, as if he were trapped.
“They’re here.” She mumbled. My father rushed to his window to see the Nazis for himself.
“They’ve already been here! Why would they come back!” He quickly shut the curtains and fell to his knees on the floor, rummaging underneath the bed. After a few sounds of knocking wood, Papa stood straight with a Luger in his hand.
“Go get your sister,” he pointed a finger at me. I silently agreed.
Then, his gaze fell upon Momma’s, “Get the other Lugers and take the girls into the attic with the Lewinskys. Do not come out unless I come to get you.”
She crossed her hands in her lap and nodded; tears escaped her chocolatey eyes.
My father rushed out of the room, and I followed suite towards my sister’s bedroom. I placed a hand on the cold door handle, and paused. Sending a quick prayer to the Lord, I attempted to calm myself. If my sister saw my nervousness, she would be a wreck.
I walked into the small girlish room, unable to speak. Her pale face had an expression of calm – I couldn’t wake her. Carefully, I picked her up in my arms and grabbed one of her coats on the way out. Behind my mother, I quickly made my way to the library. She was holding Papa’s backpack full of Lugers. The library was unusually silent, a heaviness lingered in the space.
Slowly, momma pulled one of the books on the shelf and pushed on the wall, opening the secret door to the attic.
Papa is brilliant for having that built, even before the war started.
I slipped inside the narrow space with my sister, and began to ascend up the staircase. Despite the pitch blackness, I found my way to the top. Momma followed close behind after shutting the library door quietly.
At the top of the stairs, I knocked the code knock for the Lewinsky family to recognize. The door swung open after minutes of waiting. Mrs. Lewinsky looked a mess at opening the door. Her eyes looked swollen from crying and her lips were in a grim line.
The three of us entered, not wanting to say anything.
Both of our families could end up being killed by a gun squad for this.
I gently laid my sister on the small, old couch covering her with the coat I grabbed from her closet. Mr. and Mrs. Lewinsky spoke in urgent whispers with my mother a few feet away. She motioned to the bag of Lugers. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jakob staring blankly towards me.
I stepped to his side for comfort. Years of hiding and now they are here…
Explosions, gunshots, and blood curdling shouts rattled the house – and my sanity.
The six of us sat together in a huddle praying for God to rescue us from the doomed outcome. No one cried.
Suddenly, I could hear the front door creak open. Multiple footsteps scurried around the main floor. A whimper escaped Mrs. Lewinsky’s throat.
My mother had given me a Luger some hours ago, and I could feel my hand tighten around it. More sound moved towards the library. My heart beat nearly out of my chest. Minutes later, the hidden door swung open, allowing us to hear the Nazis come, closer and closer – the door swung open and I immediately stood with my Luger pointing straight at my father.
“Papa?” I lowered my weapon and stood, shaking.
Papa welcomed in soldiers with American uniforms. He gestured to them, “These men are here to take back our city from the Reich. They have agreed to protect us.”
Claps and tears of gladness broke the tension in the room. The soldiers watched us with sincere smiles; they gave each other pats on the backs.
They were here to save us; to save my city.

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