Sorrow. I thought when I got out that things would be better. For so long, that’s what kept me going. I thought her death was my salvation. That I was finally freed from being her keeper. But it’s been years, and I’m no better. I’m taking care of myself. I have made a life for myself. But this sorrow still follows me.
At times, I feel swallowed by how sad of a life I’ve lived. At times, I remember all of what I went through, and it eats me whole. And I thought when I grew up I could save myself, but I still have those little hands.
It was easier when I had a place to blame. A place to leave behind. I found stability. She’s gone. And it’s still bad.
I’m still that little girl, buried so deep within that nothing could get through.
And harm keeps finding me.
I don’t know if she would have fought if she knew this was the life waiting. And that’s hollowing.