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There are things that I know and things I imagine about her life. The one thing I know is that it is often filled with a deep sadness that has no reason to exist yet appears more frequently than not. I know that she is pushed to tears, triggered to remember unhappy memories and reduced to a self-pitying state that squeezes at her heart and seizes her throat in silent gulps. Watching her and witnessing such grief makes me want to jump and scream at the world for causing this pain. But most often, I am silent and offer nothing but a grim smile and a pat on the knee.
I know the source of her happiness is simple. She just wants to have reason to be proud. She wants the smiles to be genuine and the worries to be light, not heavy. She wants us to surround her with our warmth and she’ll be warmed. She wants love, affection and a laugh. But despite knowing all of this, we offer up solitude, lonely nights and a cold house as gifts. That’s all we are capable of.
I want to hold her but my arms won’t extend. I want to share my happiness but I selfishly cling to my own pleasure. I want to wipe her tears but don’t want my shirt to get wet.
I know she is sad but she thinks she’s not letting on. She thinks her happy facade has tricked us all these years. She thinks maybe everyone lives like this and it’s ok because at least it’s not always like this… right?
I want her to know that I love her and I imagine she knows it despite my inaction. I imagine somehow she knows how to extract this from me and everyone else and I hope that it’s enough.
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