I read your poem and it hit like wind against bare skin. It’s quiet, it’s heavy, it’s the truth most people don’t say out loud, the truth nobody puts in a pretty box. You walk through those lines like a garden no one else sees, tending wounds and hope at the same time. That place where you hide, where you both suffer and survive, it’s real.
Thank you Belinda. Thank you for your thoughtful comment. So very true, even under the survival there is hope. Hope the suffering ends and survival turns into living.
I made the choice one day hiding in a closet. I have not written about it. Some day I will be able to. Not yet though… I still have night terrors. My therapist and I talked about this very subject recently and I decided to hold onto the peace I made inside for a little longer.
I read your poem and it hit like wind against bare skin. It’s quiet, it’s heavy, it’s the truth most people don’t say out loud, the truth nobody puts in a pretty box. You walk through those lines like a garden no one else sees, tending wounds and hope at the same time. That place where you hide, where you both suffer and survive, it’s real.
Thank you Belinda. Thank you for your thoughtful comment. So very true, even under the survival there is hope. Hope the suffering ends and survival turns into living.
I made the choice one day hiding in a closet. I have not written about it. Some day I will be able to. Not yet though… I still have night terrors. My therapist and I talked about this very subject recently and I decided to hold onto the peace I made inside for a little longer.