For the woman who’s usually kicked to the ground by the feet she kisses, being held up by strong, gentle arms is foreign.
Where is the pain? Where are the tears, the endless doubts and inability to feel at ease? Where is that sense of a shoe hanging somewhere, a Sword of Damocles tethered by a rope licked by a candle’s flames? It’s not here.
I am a damsel, but there is no distress. He forbids it. He destroys it, whenever it rears its ugly head. I am saved before I am in peril.
Strange, how something beautiful and positive can be so terrifying and unfamiliar. Sad, as well. I feel sorry for the woman cowering in anticipation of a vicious word or hand that will not come anymore. She never should have learned to survive this. She never should have sought out a pattern of one after another, each breaking her in careful, subtle ways.
For all of the broken women and men rediscovering love – and the ones who light that way – a song…
And I’m still waiting for the rain to fall.
Pour real life down on me.
‘Cause I can’t hold on to anything this good enough.
Am I good enough for you to love me too?
So take care what you ask of me,
’cause I can’t say no.
Day 119: Good Enough – Evanescence