I was young, so how could I have known that things would not always be so bad.
I sat there on the pillows at the head of my bed, with my feet tucked into the covers as I searched for some sense of security.
She was leaving, packing up and moving out. They did not love each other anymore.
A part of me hated her as they told me together that this was just something that happened, but as I looked at her and stared into her eyes, my stomach wrenched and I knew that those words, the story that they were telling me together, wasn't the truth.
Her heart was a aching, as was his, but hers in a different way. Hers was aching, wrenching, bleeding. His ached with a sense of fear, a fear of losing his little girl, losing the picture that he'd painted of his image- good, loyal, strong.
I sat there on the pillows at the head of my bed, with my feet tucked into the covers as I searched for some sense of security.
She was leaving, packing up and moving out. They did not love each other anymore.
A part of me hated her as they told me together that this was just something that happened, but as I looked at her and stared into her eyes, my stomach wrenched and I knew that those words, the story that they were telling me together, wasn't the truth.Her heart was a aching, as was his, but hers in a different way. Hers was aching, wrenching, bleeding. His ached with a sense of fear, a fear of losing his little girl, losing the picture that he'd painted of his image- good, loyal, strong.
There is a look on her face, a significance in her body language. She sits at the edge of my bed, hunched over as though she is feeling the burn of a fresh wound in the core of her stomach and her heart is beating so loudly that, although she is listening, she can only try to make out what I am saying through watching my lips as they move. There is a pain in her eyes and I know it is the pain of a mother seeing her child suffer from a forced sense of loss and heartache.
She complied with the story, but I knew her, in happiness and in sadness.
I knew her and I could see it in her eyes. Her body language said that she did not want to go. The choice to leave was not hers. So as I sat there listening, and then reflecting on the words that they just lied to me, I began to dismantle their story and pieces together the truth that I knew, the reality that they were keeping from me.
They had planned this meeting, sitting me down and telling me that all that I knew was not what it seemed. They blandly explained that, “sometimes people just fall out of love... sometimes people just aren’t happy together the way that they once were.”
"...and you want mommy and daddy to be happy, right?”
Could he even understand the weight of his words? How they'd linger?
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