still breathing

The harder she tried to forget, the easier it was to remember. For what it was worth, she wasn’t angry towards him. She had no reason to be. She was too young to understand, but the memories themselves are enough to make her ache. For whatever reason, she couldn’t muster up the energy to be upset with him. She had spent precious years living as a prisoner, but she couldn’t waste the hurt on him. There was no bitterness to throw his way…only questions. What could cause a man to commit such a crime towards humanity? And what possessed her to think that she was immune to such crimes?
Never would she be the same.

Hours were spent trying to rationalize how to handle life from that point on. There were nights when she thought the morning would never come, and other nights when she prayed that it wouldn’t. She hated it, but she refused to hate him. Deserving of it, he may be, but she was a firm believer in practical living and it made little sense to carry him around with her.  Turns out practicality wasn’t in the cards for her. Not a day went by without her mind wandering back in time. The hurt didn’t throb at the same intensity as before. It had evolved. She accredited it to the numbness. She had prayed not to feel it anymore, but God must have had other plans.

She didn’t blame him. Dirt was dirt, regardless of how it got there. Traces of it lingered within her. Her eyes could tell stories if you were willing to listen. But she chose silence; for fear that the filth of her past and sometimes her present, would scare off those that were clean.